


Edgewise

by asmallwave



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmallwave/pseuds/asmallwave
Summary: ‘Thank you, I know exactly how it would have been. You and Auguste would have been slapping each other on the back and watching tournaments, and I would have been trailing around tugging on your sleeve, trying to get a look in edgewise.’





	1. Vere

**Author's Note:**

> because who hasn't thought extensively about this quote, amirite

Damen was going on perhaps the worst type of diplomatic mission there was; to a country that was historically an enemy, on the brink of becoming a tentative friend, depending on how this particular trip fared.

Outside of the city of Arles, Damen slowed his horse. He'd gained a head start on his father’s company and could afford to let them catch up. Damen wasn't one to shy away from unpleasant tasks, but even he was feeling uncomfortable with the prospect of sustained company with the Veretian court.

He sighed, walking his horse back and forth slowly while he surveyed the outskirts of the city. Then the rest of the retinue was on him, and he continued resolutely forward.

They were stopped outside the city. It was expected, and Damen knew that they were expected, yet he was still anticipating, maybe even hoping, to be turned away.

They were waved inside, and Damen bit back another sigh.

He allowed the soldiers to surge ahead of him, falling back to the carriage which housed his father and Kastor. 

“We're nearly there,” Damen said.

Kastor's expression twisted as though he'd smelled something foul. Damen agreed with the sentiment.

Theomedes grunted. “Don't give me that look. It's all smiles when we reach the palace.”

“Father,” Kastor began slowly.

“Enough.” Theomedes sat forward in his seat, pinning Kastor with a glare. The sword at his waist tilted forward with the movement. “I'll not listen to another word—” here he turned to Damen— “from either of you.”

That rankled. Damen hadn't said a word about his misgivings since he first broached the issue with his father months ago, but Kastor had never learned to give up once he had lost.

Silence for a moment, then Kastor continued, “I'd just like to remind you—”

“Enough!” Theomedes repeated. The neighboring soldiers, who had been speaking quietly amongst themselves, fell silent at this.

It was hardly a moment later when Kastor called, “Hold!”

The carriage halted, as well as the mounted men on either side of it. Kastor vaulted down from the carriage and turned to the nearest soldier. “Dismount.”

The soldier did so at once, and Kastor neatly climbed onto his horse.

Damen grimaced but said nothing, and Kastor did not even look at him as he spurred the horse forward, toward the front of their party.

Once it was clear Kastor was not returning to the carriage, Damen rapped twice on the red top of the compartment and it began to move forward once more, the men on either side setting their heels to their horses at the same time.

Theomedes was silent, staring straight ahead at the empty seat where Kastor had sat. Damen said nothing, unwilling to risk his father's dark mood.

The castle was blooming in front of them, large and opulent. Even from a distance Damen could see carvings adorning the tops of turrets and ramparts. As they moved closer still, glimpses of color were revealed to be billowing silks curtaining doorways or draped fastidiously over golden benches. He had heard of the overbearing lavishness of Vere, and the closer they got to the castle, the more there was to see that affirmed the rumors.

They paused before the guards at the outer doors to the palace grounds—large wooden doors spiraling with golden vines wrapped sinuously around themselves. Again they were stopped, and then ushered through.

Damen smoothed a hand over the black mane of his horse, glancing around as more of the palace was revealed to him. He could see gilded windows, ornate turrets, and golden filigree. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed.

“Father,” Damen said, opening his eyes again. “This place is—”

He broke off as the assembly was brought to a halt, having reached the main entrance to the castle. The guard parted to allow the carriage to trundle forward. Damen saw Kastor at the front of the procession, dismounting from his horse. Damen followed suit, tossing the reins to a waiting attendant, then quickened his pace to walk beside his father.

He could see a long line of noblemen and women waiting to greet them at the bottom of a set of wide steps into the palace. Damen only just managed to step out of the way when the carriage too pulled to a halt and his father exited.

Theomedes cut an imposing figure in his armor and golden circlet, the leather sword belt sitting just above the leather skirt. A red cape trailed behind him in the warm breeze as he strode forward.

Damen followed in his wake, and as they passed Kastor he too fell into step beside Damen. The only sound was the shifting and snorting of horses, and the three pairs of Akielon sandals striking the dusty ground as they crossed to the Veretians.

There were so many of them Damen hardly knew who was who; which were unnamed members of the Veretian Council, and which were members of the royal family.

He didn't have to wonder for long.

He'd only scanned over half the crowd when his father suddenly halted. Damen and Kastor both jerked to a stop as well. Damen was looking around for the holdup when his father grabbed his arm in a steel grip.

“Damianos,” he said, and Damen, unable to fathom where he had gone astray, was bemused to hear a note of annoyance in the tone. “Watch yourself with these Veretian princes.”

That was all, and then he was striding forward once more, Kastor and Damen again trailing in his wake. Damen could practically feel the heat of Kastor's curiosity burning off him, but he had no answers to give. His eyes scanned the group aligned in front of the castle with some desperation now, searching for some threat, someone he'd need to be careful of. 

His father had led them to the royal family: Queen Hennike, golden-haired and stoic as a statue; King Aleron, adorned with a golden crown that cast shadows across his face; and then the princes. Understanding of his father's warning dawned in an unexpected and shameful revelation. 

Auguste, Damen knew, matched his own nineteen years. Until that moment, Damen had assumed that the "Golden Prince" moniker had been given to Auguste for his temperament and general manner. Damen hadn't known it had also been a literal description. He needed no circlet as his hair shone bright gold, his fair face open and looked as though it were on the verge of smiling.

Damen's gaze, after taking this all in, moved to the man beside him. Laurent, the younger prince closer to fourteen years, was a near match for his brother in looks, being only a bit fairer and his hair even paler gold. His face, however, was as statuesque as his mother's, and his mouth gave no indication that it was on the verge of a smile, or had ever formed the expression before.

A pinch to the back of his arm had him quickly looking at both his father and Kastor, who were gazing back at him with identical expressions of repressed irritation. Damen gritted his teeth and gave a quick bow, keeping his eyes firmly averted from both Veretian princes as King Aleron spoke.

“Welcome, friends,” he said, and his voice carried a natural air of importance, as though anything out of his mouth should and would be listened to. “I look forward to your visit, and the blooming friendship between our countries. Come, I'll show you the palace.”

He turned, and at once Theomedes stepped beside him, the two striding up the front steps to the main doors; Theomedes in his bare arms and legs, Aleron is the tightly laced Veretian clothes that showed nothing but face and hands.

Hennike stepped forward next, and if Damen's mother had been with them, he knew that she would have fallen into step here. Hennike turned toward the castle doors.

Then Auguste stepped into Damen's path.

“Let them have their palace tour,” he said, and the smile that had been only a hint before spread slowly across his face. “I have better things to show you.”

His gaze moved past Damen, and Damen turned to see Kastor attempting to force his expression into something adequately genial. 

Damen spoke before thinking twice about it. “Perhaps you should stay with Father.”

“Perhaps,” Kastor agreed, though his dark eyes flashed with warning. Being ordered around by his younger brother was hardly enjoyable, especially in front of two princes of an enemy nation.

“That's settled then!” Auguste said jovially, slapping Damen on the back. Damen was so surprised he stumbled forward half a step, then immediately righted himself. 

Kastor smirked, seeing this, and then trailed off into the castle behind the Kings and Queen.

“So, Damianos,” Auguste said, sounding not at all upset by Kastor’s exit. When Damen looked around again, Auguste too was striding away in the opposite direction of Kastor. 

The younger prince, who still had said not a word, turned from where he'd been watching Kastor disappear into the interior of the castle. He fixed his eyes on Auguste and quickly followed after him without a glance to Damen.

Damen, already unsure of this turn of events, went after them both.

“Is it true in Akielos you wrestle in the nude?” Auguste continued when Damen joined them.

“Yes,” said Damen. Then, after a pause: “If that’s the worst you’ve heard of Akielos, I hope some of the rumors about Vere are not as bad as they’re made out to be.”

“Such as?”

Damen looked up. This from the younger brother, who was pinning Damen with such a shrewd look it seemed to age him years.

Auguste, beside him, laughed. “Oh, yes! Please do tell, Damianos.”

At this point they had rounded an outer edge of the castle, crossing a courtyard with a trickling fountain and bushes of multicolored roses and lilies. 

“I've heard,” Damen drew out, “that members of the Veretian court….” He broke off here, his eyes moving back to the younger prince. He wasn't a child, but might still be young enough his brother wouldn't want him to hear what Damen said next.

Laurent met his gaze, and seemed to intuit Damen's hesitance. The blue eyes narrowed, and when his mouth opened Damen had a feeling it would be with a cutting remark.

Damen hurried on before Laurent could have a chance. “That members of the Veretian court couple in public.”

Laurent blinked as though in surprise, then looked away. 

Auguste’s slow smile spread back across his face. “Scandalous, isn’t it?”

Damen wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or being offended he was clearly being taken for a prude. In the end, he didn’t get a chance to do either, as Auguste continued to fill in the silence.

“Trust me; you quickly get used to it.”

Damen had the impression that once he experienced this particularly Veretian custom he would disagree wholeheartedly, but he remained silent. That is, until Auguste began peppering him with questions regarding Akielon sports. Damen fell easily into the topic, which carried them through the open courtyard, past a manicured garden, and to the bank of a large and open pond.

They stopped beneath a large tree, all three of them looking out along the glassy water, interrupted only by the hop of insects across the surface.

“You know,” Auguste said thoughtfully, his hand absently untying the laces at his left wrist. “Since you'll soon be embracing all that Vere has to offer, it only seems fair that we become familiar with the customs and culture of Akielos.”

When one sleeve was done, he moved onto the next. Damen watched, intrigued less by the idea that soon all that fair skin would be exposed to his view and more by the knowledge that it would likely take a full hour for Auguste to completely free himself from the overly layered Veretian clothes.

“Which customs are you referring to?” Damen asked.

“Public nudity, general revelry….” A pause, in which Auguste seemed unlikely to go on.

Laurent filled the silence. “Rolling around in the slop like pigs?”

Auguste choked loudly on a laugh, then attempted to give his brother a disapproving look, but the twitch of his lips was unmistakable. Laurent didn't smile back, but there was a certain brightness in his eyes.

“You'll have to forgive my brother,” said Auguste.

“Will I?” said Damen.

Auguste looked up, face turning serious. He was currently working at the laces down the side of his neck, exposing a smooth, golden shoulder to the light and brightening Damen's mood somewhat.

“He was cursed with a sharp tongue and a sharper mind to wield it,” said Auguste, slanting a look at Laurent. “He doesn't mean anything by it.”

From Laurent's insouciant expression Damen could deduce that he did, in fact, mean something by it, but he wasn't petty enough to fight with some boy five years his junior.

Damen unpinned the chiton at his shoulder and let the heavy fabric pool around his waist. “Consider him forgiven then.”

Something flickered in Laurent’s gaze, but he turned away before Damen could look at him fully. Auguste was far easier to read as the breezy smile quickly reappeared on his face. They continued to undress in silence. Damen, wearing actual sensible clothes in the heat, finished far sooner and waded into the pond.

His feet sank at once into the mud on the bank and he laughed, wobbling forward.

“Like a newborn fawn!” Auguste called behind him, and Damen laughed again, glancing back at the shore.

Auguste had finally managed to free himself from his shirt and shoes, and was hurriedly unlacing his pants. Laurent had made no move to strip down. He was leaned back against the trunk of the tree, a book propped in his lap. His eyes, however, were on Damen.

Damen grinned, and Laurent coolly returned his gaze to the book, unperturbed. Damen stifled the urge to laugh again.

Some time later, once Damen finally managed to unglue his feet from the muddy bottom and wade into the depths of the pond, Auguste made a running start after him, falling straight forward into the water as his feet too got stuck. Damen spit up water laughing, as Auguste emerged spluttering, struggling toward Damen.

“What were you saying about pigs, little brother?” he called to the shoreline.

Laurent made no response, but Damen's answering laugh arced above the water, seeming to hang in the air above the pond for a long moment.

The afternoon passed leisurely. It was a relief to submerge in water in the dry heat; a relief to talk and to joke with someone easy, who wouldn't bristle at perceived slights. Damen floated on his back, closing his eyes against the sun. His hand brushed something that darted away; a fish.

When Auguste spoke after long minutes of silence, his voice was quiet enough so as not to startle. “In Akielos, is it true men lay with women? Any man? Any woman?”

Damen opened his eyes, turning his head to find where Auguste was floating a few feet away, his eyes still closed. “Yes,” said Damen. “In Vere…?”

“No,” said Auguste. “The risk of a bastard—” He broke off. “Apologies. I know your brother is—I didn't mean to say—” 

Damen waved him to silence with one hand, nearly losing his balance at the top of the water. 

After a moment, Auguste continued. “I only meant—it is taboo. A man and a woman. Not until marriage, when there's a need for heirs.”

“That's a shame,” said Damen, relaxed into thoughtlessness.

Auguste laughed. “I like women,” he said, pitching his voice low, as though telling Damen a secret.

Damen grinned. “Me too.” Then, exaggeratedly quiet: “I won't tell.”

Auguste grinned back, and Damen lowered his legs to slowly tread water, blinking against the sun. At the shoreline, Laurent was still sitting with his book. As Damen watched him, a breeze moved a piece of hair across his face and he absently tucked it behind his ear. He repeated the motion three times before eventually giving up and letting the breeze brush the lock of hair across his cheek.

Damen looked at Auguste, who was watching him. “Doesn't he swim?” Damen asked, nodding toward the shoreline.

“He does,” Auguste said, and nothing more.

Eventually they emerged from the water, laying themselves down just outside the reach of the tree's shadow.

Lauren had glanced up when they emerged from the water, and then had buried his nose back in his book.

Auguste, while seemingly fine with floating naked in the pond, was distinctly less comfortable laying out in the open. He fidgeted next to Damen, his hands alternately resting against his stomach, and then his thighs, and then the ground.

Damen looked away, linking his hands behind his head. He looked at Laurent on his other side, turning a page in his book.

“What are you reading?” Damen asked.

Laurent didn't look up, but his finger hesitated on the corner of a page. After an extended moment of silence, Damen understood he was being ignored. He fell back in the grass, eyes falling shut.

It was another moment before Lauren spoke. “It's a history of Vere and Akielos.”

Damen opened his eyes and turned his head. Laurent's gaze was glued to the book, his cheeks faintly flushed.

“Really?” said Auguste. He leaned up on an elbow, looking over Damen at his brother. The honey gold hair shone bright and pure in the afternoon sun. Damen's heart thudded hard in his chest.

“Yes,” said Laurent.

“And?” Augusted asked then. He squinted cheekily at Damen, then his gaze moved back to his brother. “Is there any hope for our countries?”

Laurent snapped the book shut and suddenly stood. He didn't look at either of them as he exited the shade of the tree and began walking toward the palace. He said, just loud enough to be heard as a light breeze attempted to carry his words away, “History says no.”

A silence. Then Auguste laughed. He was standing as well and beginning to gather his clothes. He caught Damen's eye and grinned. “He's an optimist, my brother.”

Damen said nothing, content with watching as Auguste pulled on his pants. Then he remembered his father's warning and he blinked, shifting his gaze away, pulling his own clothes on as well.  


#

He had missed the reception in honor of Akielos. When he told his father why—that he was down at the lake with the two Veretian princes—Theomedes had given him a long, shrewd glare, one that Damen was smart enough to understand. He weathered it unflinchingly, and eventually his father looked away, lips pressed tightly together.

“We're becoming friends,” Damen said, and his father immediately looked at him once more, accusingly.

Damen pressed his point. “If we're to be allies with the Veretians, a friendship—”

Theomedes held up a hand, and Damen stopped. 

“Friendship,” Theomedes said, drawing the word out.

He was still wearing his Akielon chiton, and the red cape pinned to a broad shoulder. Out of deference to the Veretian palace, and on his father's order, both Damen and Kastor had been tightly bound into restrictive Veretian clothes of reds and blacks, but his father had not deemed it necessary for himself.

They were on the sprawling balcony off the main banquet hall. Damen kept seeing glimpses of painted skin and draped silks out of the corner of his eye and had to force himself not to look. He hadn't yet gone into the hall, having ascended the outer stairs to the balcony from the west lawn.

His father, as though reading his mind, looked through the open doors behind them and into the hall. He let out a disgusted breath.

“Veretians,” he said, “have no sense of shame.”

Damen, given permission now, looked inside as well. The exposed flesh that had been a hint before was now open to his view.

Courtiers were arranged around the hall, lounging, talking, drinking. Pets with golden skin and draped in silk were flitting around them, or servicing some of them, unlacing the complicated Veretian clothing where it was necessary.

Damen swallowed and turned away. His father was already looking out over the lawn.

They were both quiet. In the gardens below, Damen could see more courtiers, more slaves, more glimpses of exposed flesh shining in the gathering dusk.

“How do you find the King and Queen, father?” Damen asked eventually, desperate to find any topic to distract him.

Theomedes grunted. “Best not speak of it here.”

Damen's heart dropped. They hadn't been in Arles for a full day, and yet he already feared that this trip might make relations worse, not better. His father's prejudices might run too deep, his opinions of the Veretains might be too staunchly cultivated.

Damen wondered, even if he did manage to make true friends with the Veretian princes, whether he could offset any damage his father, and likely Kastor, would do in the meantime. 

And maybe he himself was a fool for believing he could befriend Veretians.

“Go on, then,” Themoedes said suddenly, turning back toward the doors. “There's much more interesting pursuits to be found inside than out here talking with me. I won't stop you from partaking.” His voice chilled a fraction. “Gods know I couldn't stop your brother.”

Kastor stumbled into Damen's sight suddenly, his arms around two fair-skinned girls covered in golden paint and draped in silks. The courtiers around him looked vaguely uncomfortable, and Damen remembered that the Veretians didn't lay with the opposite sex. Not ever.

“Should I—”

“Oh, leave him,” his father said. Damen almost clarified his intention, but it was clear his father already understood as he went on. “It's only right he can fuck whatever whore he wants. Let the Veretians stew in their discomfort.”

There was nothing Damen could say to that. He took his father's advice and began to head inside.

“Send a servant out here with some damned wine,” his father called after him, and Damen touched the shoulder of the first servant he passed by and sent him to do his father's bidding.

The hall was thronging. Music was playing, and the assembly was either dancing or lounging. He couldn't see a single person without a drink in their hand.

Even the young Veretian prince was holding a delicately filigreed goblet to his mouth. He was alone at the edge of the room, his eyes tracking the movements of the court. Damen moved closer, leaning up against the wall beside him.

There was a protracted moment of silence. When Laurent tipped his cup to his mouth again, from the corner of his eye Damen could see it was water, not wine.

“I thought all Veretians loved wine,” he commented.

Laurent said nothing, merely tipped his cup back once more. Damen felt himself begin to smile.

“You've managed to cultivate quite a lot of rudeness for someone so young,” Damen said then.

Laurent's response was slow and pointed. “Thank you.”

This time the smile bloomed full across Damen's face. Maybe it was just the dimness of the room, the flickering candlelight, but Damen thought he saw Laurent flush.

“Your brother doesn't seem to have a problem enjoying himself,” Damen said. He wasn't sure why he couldn't stop himself from talking to Laurent when it was so clear Laurent tolerated him at best.

Laurent's gaze sought out and fixed on his brother's equally golden head in the crowd. Auguste was laughing at his seat at the high table, tapping his foot to the music and talking with the people around him. There were a few male pets angling for his attention, and Auguste would smile at them, but would lean away when they began to stray closer, would shift his arm if the pet was daring enough to rest a hand on his chair.

“So he truly does favor women.”

“Auguste doesn't lie.” Laurent’s tone suggested that he found the fact distasteful. 

“That's strange, for a Veretian.”

“Are you planning to talk my ear off all night?”

Damen smiled again. “I was considering it. I’m lucky you’re so solicitous.”

“If I’m forced to entertain you, you can at least do something for me.” Without missing a beat, Laurent thrust his cup in Damen's direction, sparing him a sidelong glance. "Fetch me more...wine."

Damen glanced at the goblet, then palmed it. Having sent him on an errand, Laurent turned back toward the rest of the crowd, effectively dismissing him.

Damen turned to do as he was bid, wondering how it was possible for a boy who'd only barely reached adolescence to have so much arrogance. He found himself smiling again. Laurent was charming, really, in his insolence.

Finding a servant carrying anything other than wine was nearly impossible. By the time he had managed to refill the cup with water and extricated himself from the Veretians and their prying questions about the Akielon court, he could no longer find Laurent.

Damen found himself near Auguste, who called, “Ho!” when he saw Damen, and grasped his forearm to encourage him to step up on the raised dais.

“Where is your brother?” Damen asked. He had to lean and nearly shout it in Auguste’s ear over the music and laughing of the crowd around him.

Auguste furrowed his brow, and Damen made to repeat himself when Auguste said, “Laurent? In his room, I expect—he doesn’t enjoy parties.”

Damen made to protest, but a few of Auguste’s men—likely high-ranking soldiers—thrust a cup of wine into his hand and threw an arm around his shoulders, dragging him off his seat. Auguste waved merrily at Damen as he was pulled away, looking attractively flushed with golden hair tousled and his circlet askew.

Damen glanced around once more, but Laurent was still missing, and he could no longer see Kastor. His father was still on the balcony, but he had been joined by King Aleron. They seemed to be getting along.

His spirits rising somewhat, Damen absently took a sip from the goblet in his hand, and made his way slowly out of the hall and toward his own rooms.  


#

The next day most everyone was looking the worse for wear, including Auguste. He greeted Damen disconsolately at breakfast, his hair still mussed and his face swollen.

Laurent was seated beside him with a book, and every now and then he would pause and glance up to laugh at Auguste, or to smirk at Damen.

Auguste, catching on quickly, threw a hearty breakfast roll at him. Laurent easily deflected it by lifting the book in front of his face.

“Boys,” King Aleron admonished without looking up from his own plate.

By the time the rest of their party joined them, Damen was done and already standing. Auguste seemed of a like mind and got to his feet as well. Laurent looked up, snapped his book closed, and followed them out.

The day was similar to the one before. Kastor seemed to have taken after his father, and didn’t agree with Damen’s attempt to befriend the Veretian princes. So while Damen spent the day with Auguste and the near-silent shadow of his brother, Kastor stayed with his father in the castle.

After taking a few horses from the stables and riding to the outer edges of the sprawling grounds, the three of them dismounted. Laurent, who was slighter and seemingly softer than Damen could ever remember being in his life, kept up well with them. His seat on his horse was excellent. 

Auguste led them both to a nearby orchard, and Damen paused to watch the two golden princes walk on ahead of him. Auguste picked an apple from a nearby branch and tossed it easily to Laurent. Laurent fumbled, but managed to hold onto it, scowling and biting into the skin viciously when Auguste laughed.

Damen took a step forward, still watching. Auguste slung an arm around Laurent’s shoulders and dragged him close to murmur something in his ear. Laurent elbowed him in the side and Auguste immediately backed off a few steps, laughing. When Laurent turned his head just so to look at his brother, Damen could see he was laughing too, his teeth glinting.

Then Auguste turned to look at him. “Damianos, have you forgotten how to walk?”

Laurent murmured something too quiet for Damen to catch. Auguste’s smile twitched wider. They were both watching him now.

Damen looked from one to the other—from Auguste’s open, expectant look, to Laurent’s cool, steadfast gaze, the partly-eaten apple hanging from one hand. Damen steeled himself, then hurried to fall into step with them.  


#

The following weeks passed in the same fashion; riding with Auguste, swimming with Auguste, competing in sports with Auguste, and always, the specter of Laurent was there as well, trailing after them both, a book clutched tightly to his side or raised in front of his face to—Damen soon realized—hide his ever-present flush.

On the last day of their stay, a tournament was planned. The castle had been slowly filling with visiting guests for days, and the surrounding village was full to bursting. Damen generally didn’t hold much of the rumors he’d heard about Akielons to be true, but he couldn’t deny that he excelled at, and deeply enjoyed, sports of any kind.

Of course, these rumors when whispered behind his back by the Veretian court were generally peppered with more scorn, and seemed to play into the assumption that Akielons were blood-thirsty brutes.

The day of the tournament they didn’t stray from the castle, so Auguste found Damen in the gardens as the day wore on. As usual, Laurent was trailing behind him, yet somehow managing to look as though he had happened to stumble upon them separately.

“Ho, Damianos.” Auguste slumped onto the bench beside Damen, bumping his shoulder. “What games are you competing in today?”

“Wrestling,” Damen said at once, surprised to find that Laurent had answered at the same time.

He and Auguste both looked at Laurent, who flushed deeply, but raised his chin. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he said. “Look at the animal.”

“Oh, Laurent,” Auguste said, sighing dramatically. “Envy doesn’t suit a prince.” His eyes glinted. “Certainly not a prince as fair as yourself.”

Laurent’s gaze cooled, his back straightening. He brushed an invisible spot of dust off his forearm, which was tightly bound in the restrictive Veretian clothing. Damen was also wearing it. He found himself convulsively swallowing against the heavy cloth around his neck.

“Envy,” Laurent mused. “It’s humbling to admit I’ve never known the feeling.”

Auguste snorted. “Right.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Laurent said, still icy, and he continued sedately past them and deeper into the gardens.

“Spoilsport!” Auguste called after him, but Laurent didn’t look back. 

There was a long pause, and then Auguste leaned back against the bench, tilting his head toward the sky. “He worries me.”

Damen hesitated, unsure what to say, then offered, “He’s young.”

“Old enough to know that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“I think he’s counting on you to catch the flies,” Damen commented lightly.

Auguste laughed, then tipped his face forward to look at Damen. “He’s lucky you’re good-natured. I can’t imagine the kind of disaster this trip would be if you weren’t.”

“He’s young,” Damen said again, shrugging. “He’ll grow out of it.”

Auguste made a noncommittal hum, staring at the spot in the path where Laurent had disappeared. The shadows slowly lengthened around them as they sat in silence. Damen fell into a kind of reverie, listening to the far-off sounds of voices; the closer sound of the fountain’s trickling water; and the low drone of insects buzzing around the flowers.

Auguste straightened, then stood up, stretching his back. “Best get a move on, then,” he said. “I would hate to miss out on the festivities.”  


#

The games carried them into the late afternoon. The Veretians, so shameless about public copulation, seemed shocked and reluctantly intrigued at the Akielon way of fighting in the nude. Auguste, who took no interest in wrestling, did not compete, for which Damen was profoundly grateful. He didn’t trust his likely instinctual reaction to rolling around in the nude with an oiled and handsome blond.

Like most young princes, however, Auguste did enjoy swordplay. He and Damen faced each other in the rink to the applause of the crowd around them, and their match lasted easily twice as long as any other. In the end, King Aleron had to stand and beg that they stop so that the court could return to the castle and eat.

Damen threw down his sword and held out his hand, which Auguste heartily grasped. “Not bad,” Auguste said, but his color was up, his eyes glinting.

It was only then, as they were returning to the castle, Damen realized he hadn’t seen Laurent since that morning in the gardens. Kastor had competed alongside Damen in the events, but Laurent hadn’t competed once.

When Damen casually mentioned this to Auguste, he could practically feel the tension coming off him.

“Laurent…doesn’t enjoy sports,” he said. “He’s bookish.” A pause, then he rushed to continue. “However, that’s not to say he isn’t capable—”

Damen couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, thinking back on every exchange he’d had with Laurent. “I’d never dream of saying he isn’t capable.”

Auguste looked at him, seeming startled, then he smiled.  


#

They said their farewells the next morning. Damen and Kastor were blessedly back in their chitons, and Damen was surprised to find that even that fact could only raise his spirits a little. It was startling—he was going to miss Arles, and he was going to miss the easy camaraderie with Auguste. He realized that he would even miss Laurent, though he couldn’t imagine Laurent doing anything other than pretending the past weeks had never happened. Even that thought made him grin, a little.

They parted on the front steps. The entirety of his father’s retinue was waiting behind them as they said their goodbyes. Auguste clapped Damen hard on the shoulder, and Damen returned the favor, grinning.

“I think I’ll see you again soon,” Auguste said.

Form the corner of his eye, Damen could see his father and King Aleron conversing freely, both looking relaxed. “I think…that is likely,” Damen said.

His gaze moved to the blond beside Auguste, and Laurent returned the look coolly. He didn’t offer to touch Damen in any way, or make any of the usual formalities.

He just looked at Damen and said, “Goodbye, then.”

Damen grinned. “Goodbye, Laurent.”

That was it then; they turned and his father climbed into the carriage, and he and Kastor mounted their horses. As they trundled away, Damen took a quick glance back. The family was still there, where they’d left them, and the two golden princes were watching them retreat. Auguste lifted his hand in a wave, while Laurent turned and headed back into the castle without a backward glance.


	2. Akielos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading/commenting/kudos-ing!!!

Auguste’s “soon” didn’t arrive until two years later. Damen’s father and King Aleron had met numerous times during the years, and Damen knew that they corresponded regularly, but he was never invited on the diplomatic trips with his father, and it seemed Laurent and Auguste weren’t either.

His father had only told him the day before they were coming; had dropped it on Damen over supper with no warning, and Damen’s anticipation had carried him into the next morning and deposited him on the front steps.

The entire Veretian retinue appeared slowly, following the path along the edge of the limestone cliffs.

Damen stood still, just watching, thinking about the weeks to come. He had been anticipating an uneventful summer, and it was a relief to have the monotony broken. There were only so many times he could visit the neighboring kyroi, or travel to Delpha to see Nikandros, before the boredom of repetition dragged him down.

He saw Laurent first. Damen could only recognize him by the pale hair, shades lighter than Auguste’s. Damen had forgotten what an excellent rider he was; his seat on his horse was flawless, even as he gave most of the attention to the endless views of the Ellosean Sea beside him. As they drew nearer, Laurent turned his face forward.

Damen took a slow breath. 

He was beautiful. He had been beautiful two years ago, in what Damen had assumed was the youthful height of his loveliness. Somehow, impossibly, he had grown more so; long-limbed and straight-backed, his face as breathtaking as the marble statues surrounding the temples in Ios.

They drew up. Laurent dismounted, and it was only then that Damen saw Auguste, as he dismounted beside Laurent. He was already grinning, looking much the same as he had two years ago.

Auguste waited for his father and mother to make the usual formalities before he broke off to clap Damen on the back.

“Damianos,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” Damen said, smiling back.

Auguste surveyed their surroundings. The full court was not out to greet them; that was a particularly Veretian custom that the Akielons found beneath them. It was only Damen and his father. “Where is Kastor?” Auguste asked.

“Gone,” Damen said, and was surprised to find himself relieved at the words. Kastor’s feelings about Vere and the Veretians hadn’t softened since their trip two years ago. “Visiting the provinces.”

“Ah.” Auguste’s expression was neutral, but Damen sensed a similar easing of tension in him.

Damen looked around, suddenly realizing that it was just the two of them, save for the Veretian retinue who were milling about, or heading toward the stables. “And your brother?”

Auguste inclined his head toward the large stone pillars at the front of the palace. Damen looked just as Laurent and his mother disappeared inside.

“No ‘hello,’ then?”

Auguste only laughed. “Consider yourself lucky. At least he had no chance to insult you.”

#

Damen spent the day with Auguste, wandering the grounds. Auguste was fascinated by the different landscape; by the tall cliffs and rocky shoreline; by the white village houses and marble palace. They talked of Vere and Akielos, of tournaments and of the past two years which they hadn’t seen each other.

“Father didn’t want us visiting Akielos until we were ready,” Auguste had said.

“Ready?” Damen repeated.

Auguste held himself still, as though deciding how to continue. “Until we were…older.”

They were following the lane that the Veretians had just ridden in on, heading toward the village, but they both stopped to look out over the sea.

Damen understood. “He didn’t want the barbarians to disturb your delicate Veretian sensibilities.” His voice was light, a joke, but Auguste still winced.

“Some prejudices…are hard to break.”

Damen remained silent. 

Auguste turned back toward the castle, and the slowly dispersing Veretian men. “You should know,” he said suddenly, “that my uncle is also here with us.”

“Oh?”

Auguste was silent long enough to make Damen take notice. “Speaking of prejudices,” he said, his gaze steady.

Damen nodded, understanding. Another hurdle to overcome.

Auguste must have sensed his mood. He suddenly laughed. He began to walk once more, brushing past Damen. “Well,” he said over his shoulder, his step jaunty, “you can’t expect universal adoration.” 

Damen, who was certain he’d never been told that in his life, grimaced before grudgingly hurrying down the lane after his friend.

In the afternoon, they went to the training arena. The soldiers there knew Damen, and they had an easy camaraderie after years of familiarity and fighting together. It was different when a foreign prince was him as well, but Auguste was easy to like and the men quickly seemed to forget that he was Veretian.

Damen took up a spare sword and fought with some of the soldiers, and then with Auguste. Auguste was even better than he had been two years ago, but so was Damen. When they finally called it off, it was late and neither had managed to one-up the other. They sat down with the men and drank wine, listening to war stories and local gossip.

Eventually, Damen had to stumble away. He dragged an unwilling Auguste—who was in the middle of his dozenth story about the wonders and eccentricities of the Veretian court—up from his seat. It had turned dark, and the rest of the men were falling over themselves laughing at the two princes and at each other.

Earlier, Damen had shown Auguste the slave baths, and they had hardly reentered the palace when Auguste bid him goodnight and swayed in the direction of the stairs leading downward. 

Damen continued on, feeling warm and contented. He had just passed the main hall when he saw a figure crouched in the hallway ahead of him. Damen slowed his pace.

The firelight from the torches was shining on the golden crown of Laurent’s head. He didn’t seem to notice Damen steadily drawing nearer until he was on top of him.

Laurent went very still, then tilted his head up. Their gazes caught. Then the long line of Laurent’s exposed throat caught Damen’s attention instead.

“What are you doing?”

Laurent only stared at him, long enough that Damen almost asked again. Then he heard a soft mewl and realized that Laurent was holding a bit of bread in his hand, and between his bent knees was a gray cat.

“There’s no need to feed them,” said Damen. “They find plenty of mice.”

Laurent stood. The cat reared up and began kneading at the knee of his pants. Laurent dropped the rest of the bread and the cat’s attention was diverted.

They stood in silence. Laurent was looking at the cat.

Damen knew that if he played this game with Laurent, waiting for him to break the silence, Damen would lose. He moved to stand opposite Laurent, leaning his shoulder against the stone.

“What do you think?”

Lauren’s gaze met his, slowly. He was wide-eyed, his lips just barely parted. He was more difficult to read than he was at fourteen, but Damen suspected he was confused, maybe surprised. When Damen continued to look at him, a pink flush bloomed slowly over Laurent’s cheeks.

Damen added, “Of the palace.”

Laurent’s gaze dropped. The splotchy blush was still there. Then his gaze flicked around, as though only just taking in his surroundings.

“Sparse,” he finally said.

Damen nearly laughed. “To a Veretian, I suppose.”

“To anyone with one working eye.”

Damen did laugh, then. “I’m relieved your charming disposition remained intact over the last two years.”

He wasn’t certain, but he though he saw Laurent’s mouth twitch.

The cat had wandered away. Laurent straightened to his full height. He had grown, but Damen still managed to dwarf him easily. “I take it I won’t be seeing my brother again tonight?” Laurent asked, coolly. 

Damen thought back to the glazed look on Auguste’s face as he had taken in the slave girls in the baths. “No.”

Laurent breathed in through his nose, nostrils flaring, then attempted to brush past Damen and continue down the hall.

Damen didn’t know what possessed him—maybe he wished for death—but he reached out and caught Laurent’s wrist. Laurent stopped dead, and Damen let go as the cool blue gaze met his. “You won’t say goodnight?”

If possible, Laurent’s gaze cooled even more. “No.” Damen expected that to be all, but then Laurent continued. “There is nothing good about tonight. If it were my choice, I’d still be in Arles.”

Oddly, Damen hadn’t expected that. Laurent stared him down, challenging him to take offense.

Damen had quickly learned that most everything Laurent said was to goad, or to wound. He refused to play that game. He smiled. “I suppose it’s my duty as host to make your stay enjoyable, then.”

Laurent didn’t move, his expression still stony. Damen waited a moment longer for Laurent’s response, but it never came. Laurent turned and walked in the direction of his rooms.

Damen watched him go. At the end of the hallway, an ankle-high shadow detached from the wall and darted after him, and then Laurent and the cat were completely out of sight.

#

Damen was prepared to fulfill his promise to make Laurent’s trip enjoyable, but he hardly saw Laurent over the next few weeks. He thought that perhaps keeping his distance was the best way to ensure Laurent enjoyed his trip, then he beat that thought back. Surely Laurent wasn’t truly enjoying himself without someone to needle.

Laurent did not join Damen and Auguste on any excursions, and whenever Damen saw him in the palace he was close by his mother’s side. Damen was curious about this, about what had changed since his visit two years ago when Laurent had been Auguste’s shadow, but it wasn’t his place to ask. And he didn’t believe Auguste would tell him.

It was Laurent’s continued absence that made his presence all the more shocking when he met them one morning at the boathouse on the shoreline north of the palace. He had told Auguste that sailing was one of his favorite pastimes, and had almost instantly been directed to take Auguste along on his next outing. 

Auguste must have seen more of his brother than Damen had, for Laurent had shown up a full half an hour after Auguste had, clearly aware of where to meet. He had descended the rocky slope with apparent ease, even in his heavy Veretian clothing. Auguste had begun wearing chitons nearly the moment he stepped foot in the palace, but Laurent hadn’t bothered, despite being gifted a dozen by the Akielon household.

Damen watched Laurent walk slowly across the shore. When he reached them, he only spared a glance for Damen before settling himself beside Auguste.

“Good morning, little Brother. Mother couldn’t keep your interest this morning?”

“Shut up,” Laurent said. Auguste smiled.

Not long after, they shoved the boat out into the water and climbed aboard. There was a small crew aboard to row in case the wind was not strong enough to carry them. When they set sail, it was clear they weren’t needed, as the breeze was blowing them easily to where Damen wanted to go; into the Gulf of Atros, heading toward Isthima.

Laurent stayed in the hull, near the crew. Occasionally they would cast him sidelong looks, or half-hearted glares, but for the most part they seemed not to mind him as he stayed out of their way, and they out of his.

Auguste was with Damen at the bow, talking to him. Damen’s attention had been kept all the way until they drew level with the northern coast of Isthima, when he saw Laurent tugging at his clothes.

He was picking absently at the sleeve of his jacket with his opposite hand while he looked out across the water. He must have been boiling under the heavy clothes, but aside from that one hand pulling insistently, now, at the silk string holding his sleeve closed, he hadn’t given any other indication.

Auguste was still speaking to him, and for a moment Damen hung onto the thread of conversation, but then he saw that Laurent had managed to bare the translucent skin of his inner wrist, and was still steadily pulling his clothes apart. Then his forearm was bare, then the inside of his upper arm, and Damen could see the smooth curve of muscle beneath skin.

“Damen?” Auguste asked.

Damen turned to him at the same time a gust of wind blew hard off the water, blowing Auguste’s hair into his face. From the edge of the boat, Damen heard someone say, “Damn.”

He looked. Laurent was peering into the water, as the blue silk ribbon from his jacket had flown away on the breeze.

Damen heard Auguste laugh lightly, and make some jab at his brother about the Veretian clothes. Laurent didn’t seem to hear him. His gaze was fixed on the ribbon which had just hit the swell of the boat’s wake, the hand of his still-laced sleeve coming up to grip his bare wrist as his open jacket billowed.

Damen didn’t know what he was doing until he did it. He put both feet up on the gunnel of the boat, gripping a tied-off rope to hold him in place as he peered down to find his object. A few people shouted behind him, maybe warnings, but Damen had already dropped the rope and dived into the blue water.

It was colder than he expected. He allowed himself a moment to float, to get used to it, before he surfaced. He could still hear shouting, and when he glanced back at the boat he could see most of the crew, as well as Auguste, leaning over the edge to watch him. Laurent was standing stiff-backed at the hull, one hand still gripping his opposite wrist.

Damen bobbed in the water, looking around. He thought for a moment that his entry had pushed it deeper under the waves, but then he saw the light blue lace twisting sinuous as a snake in the lightly rolling waves.

Damen leisurely swam over and pulled the ribbon into his hand, wrapping it around his wrist. Then he swam back to the boat.

He drew up to the hull, ignoring the crew peering down at him. Laurent was staring into the water. The sunlight was streaming from directly behind him, glinting off his hair to create a glowing crown around face.

Damen smiled. Laurent was frowning at him.

Damen swam to the bow, then Auguste was there to haul him up onto the deck. When Damen landed, Auguste was giving Damen such an openly bewildered look that it was a chore for Damen not to laugh at him outright. Instead Damen smiled, and let the ribbon unravel from his wrist, holding it up for Auguste to see. Auguste looked even more confused.

Damen’s gaze moved to Laurent, who was still standing exactly where he had been before. His eyes were fixed on the silk ribbon in Damen’s hand.

Damen stepped forward and held it out to him.

For a long moment, Laurent only looked at his palm, his eyes narrowing. Then his cool gaze met Damen’s. “And what exactly do you imagine I’d do with that?”

Expecting that, Damen tied the ribbon around the exposed wooden gunnel.

“There,” he said. “By the time we reach shore it will have dried.”

Laurent had moved his gaze to the ribbon. Whether from the sun or the heat or something else, his cheeks had gone pink.

Damen, who was dripping onto the deck, moved back to the bow of the boat and into the heavy head-wind to dry himself off. Auguste was standing there, staring at the form of Isthima growing clearer. When Damen drew near, Auguste turned to look at him with a similar blank look to Laurent’s.

There was a long moment of silence. Auguste turned back to the view. Then he gave Damen a sidelong glance, one corner of his mouth twitching up. “It was only a ribbon. He could have bought one hundred more without blinking.”

I would have bought him one hundred more, came the thought unbidden in Damen’s mind. He only shrugged. “Well now he can save his money.”

Auguste’s smile grew at that, in a distinctly indulgent way, but he said nothing else, and they sailed back to shore in relative silence.

#

Afterward, Damen didn’t see Laurent for weeks. He had gone back into his isolation. This time Damen couldn’t stop himself from asking Auguste about it, but he was frustratingly tight-lipped.

“He’s getting older,” he’d said. They’d gone for a ride away from Ios, heading to the southernmost tip of Akielos. “He doesn’t want to be hanging around his brother all the time.”

Damen frowned. “He’d rather be with his mother instead?”

Auguste grimaced, then bet that he could beat Damen in a race to a far-off poplar tree, then took off before Damen could tell him off for attempting to change the subject. Damen huffed and spurred his horse on to chase after him, deciding not to pick the topic back up when he arrived a hair behind Auguste.

When Laurent finally reappeared, it was not where Damen expected. Damen had been heading to the training yard to fight with some of the soldiers. When he got there, a match was already going on, the sound of swords engaging over and over again ringing around the courtyard. 

Laurent was leaned up against the edge of the fence. Damen only hesitated for a moment before striding up to join him.

Predictably, Laurent pretended he wasn’t there. Damen let the silence stretch, then let it stretch some more, past the moment when he would have broken it. If Laurent noticed, he gave no indication.

“What happened to your books?”

Laurent looked at Damen carefully. “I outgrew them.”

Damen contemplated that for a bit, watching the men spar. “And fighting?” Damen eventually asked.

“No,” Laurent said slowly. “I haven’t outgrown that.”

“Come on, then.”

Damen vaulted easily over the fence around the training arena and landed in a puff of dirt. He was tempted to offer Laurent a hand to help him over as well, just to experience the look of cold fury Laurent would no doubt have leveled on him in response. In the end, Laurent climbed over and landed beside him before Damen could say anything.

The soldiers stopped fighting as soon as they saw who was approaching. Damen appropriated their practice swords, but Laurent said, “Wait.”

He had followed the men to where they were putting back on their real swords. “Give me those.”

The two looked at each other, then handed them over. Laurent returned, easily tossing one of the swords to Damen, who caught it with some surprise.

Laurent unsheathed his own sword, kicking the scabbard away. His expression was implacable as they looked at each other. Damen could practically see the warning in his eyes, but he still couldn’t contain himself from asking, “You’re sure?”

Laurent’s gaze cooled considerably, the eyes turning icy. Damen took that as an answer. He unsheathed his sword, and without waiting another moment, engaged Laurent.

Laurent was good, for sixteen. Damen himself was much better when he was sixteen, and at twenty-one it was no match at all.

Damen could see that Laurent knew it, but unlike most men his age Laurent was not moved to frustration. When Damen was too close to besting him, Laurent would disengage and retreat, and the next time their swords met, he would attempt to mimic Damen, stepping when Damen stepped, trying moves that Damen had just used against him.

He was an exceptionally quick learner, and the longer they fought the more difficult it was to beat him. 

But, it still wasn’t that difficult.

Laurent’s sword was knocked out of his hand for the fifth time in as many matches. He frowned, rubbing his dominant forearm, looking at his sword.

“The soldiers want their arena back,” Damen said, voice casual, hoping to spare Laurent more embarrassment. They’d gained an audience as they fought.

Laurent glared, seeing through Damen’s excuse at once. “This is your father’s arena,” he said, then he began to quickly unlace one sleeve of his jacket. “And yours.” He unlaced the opposite sleeve. “They wouldn’t train again all year if you forbade it.” He reached up, trailing laces, to untie the ribbon at his neck. 

Then he stripped off the blue jacket and tossed it into the dust. He was left in a white shirt and his pants. He picked up his sword.

Damen’s heart thudded in his chest. He smiled, stepped forward slowly, then his blade met Laurent’s in a kiss of steel.

Laurent couldn’t beat him, but he didn’t fold as quickly as Damen expected. In certain matches, Damen fought him nearly as long as he would have Auguste.

In the end, Laurent missed a step. Damen, expecting it to be a feint that Laurent over-used, almost didn’t pull his sword back in time, expecting Laurent to dodge it. When he saw that Laurent wasn’t, in fact, prepared to get out of the way, Damen flung out an opposite arm and shoved him back, just as the sword swung out. 

At the height of its swing, Damen let it go rather than letting it wrench his shoulder back. The soldiers at the fence jumped back in a hurry, but the sword fell far short of them and skidded across the dirt.

Laurent was staring with wide eyes, his chest heaving. He’d sweated nearly through his white shirt, and the strands of blond hair at his temples and forehead were dark, almost brown.

“That’s it,” Damen said. “We’re done.”

“I could have—”

“No, you couldn’t have.” Damen said, putting some force behind it. “I nearly cut your throat open.”

Laurent stilled. In fury, Damen suspected. “But you didn’t.”

“We’re done.” Damen repeated. He strode to Laurent’s abandoned jacket and picked it up, then tossed it to Laurent.

He caught it, then turned away from Damen and walked out of the arena, in the opposite direction that they’d entered. Damen watched him go until he reached the palace, when he entered without a glance backward, and disappeared.

It had turned dark while they fought, and Damen eventually handed the arena back to his men while he went into the palace to find supper.

He ate alone, having missed the meal with his family and their guests. Laurent was nowhere to be found.

When Damen finished, he headed back through the dark corridors toward his rooms. It was early, but he was exhausted, and it was likely that Auguste was entertaining himself in his own rooms.

As Damen passed by one of the tall windows overlooking the back garden, something pale caught his attention. Damen sought it out and found that it was Laurent, in the garden. 

Since leaving the arena, he had changed into one of the white chitons the had had been gifted. He was standing beside a small olive tree.

For a long moment, Laurent didn’t do anything. Then he glanced down, seemingly at himself. The fingers of one hand brushed against his thigh, where the chiton ended. Damen swallowed. Below the window was a long stone bench. Damen sat down.

Laurent looked around. He was alone. With his free hand, he touched the skin of his opposite shoulder, then traced the diagonal edge of the chiton across his chest.

It struck Damen suddenly that Laurent was a young man in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar customs. A young man who had likely never been far outside Vere, if at all. It made sense, then, why he was sticking close to his mother, why he seemed so skittish.

When his solitude was broken Damen could see, even from a distance, Laurent turn stiff. From the path he had emerged from, Laurent’s uncle also appeared. Damen watched Laurent step back once, and then stop.

His uncle was large, imposing, with dark hair. Laurent’s back was to him now, but Damen could see his uncle speaking. He moved closer, and Laurent swayed, but didn’t move any further away.

Their exchange only lasted a minute, before Laurent brushed past him back down the pathway, his pace quick. His uncle turned, so both he and Damen were watching Laurent’s retreating form. Watching as Laurent disappeared in parts; first the golden sandals, then the white chiton, then finally, the moon-spun golden hair also was gone.

His uncle took a step down the path, as though to follow, and then paused. Damen frowned, bracing his hands against the windowsill, watching. He himself had watched Laurent leave, but the uncle’s interest had left Damen unsettled.

Damen continued watching, but Laurent did not return, and eventually the uncle too disappeared down the path, into the gathering darkness.

#

Kastor returned to Ios partway through summer. He was as surprised by the presence of the Veretians as Damen had been when he learned about their visit. Kastor, however, was far less welcoming.

After his father had grown tired of his grumbling, he had set his sights on Damen.

“Veretians in Ios,” he said scornfully, possibly for the hundredth time. “Grandfather would never have stood for it. Father wouldn’t have stood for it when I was a boy, but of course the Veretians managed to snake into his heart. They—”

“Brother,” Damen said. They were standing at the cliffs, overlooking the sea. Kastor had wanted to meet here, as the sound of waves and wind off the water would drown their voices.

Kastor was waiting for him to continue.

“They’re not as bad as that,” he said.

Kastor scoffed, lip curling. “Yes, well you’ve always been easy to please. Give you any pale-haired slave—”

“That’s not it.”

“Oh no?” Kastor turned to face him, and his face was forbidding. “I’ve seen how you look at them—now and even before, when we were in Arles.”

“I haven’t—”

“But you want to.” He leaned in closer, his voice turning gritty. Damen could barely hear him over the noise of the sea. “And I bet they would—the stories people tell about them—that the two of them are…that they’re…together.”

Damen’s stomach turned, not least of all because of the maliciously eager look on Kastor’s face. “Sounds like village gossip.”

Kastor leaned back, peering toward the water once more. “Right. I see there’s no talking to you either. You’re just as converted as Father.” He turned and left.

Damen considered calling him back, but what would be the point? Kastor was hard-headed as a bull, and could be just as mean. It was better for everyone to let him cool his heels, and not antagonize him further. Damen was certain that he would come around—if Kastor would spend more time with the Veretians he would see that most of the rumors were nothing more than talk from idle gossipmongers. 

Kastor’s voice suddenly floated back to him, and Damen turned, not expecting him to be standing just a little way away. “I’m not unreasonable, Damen. I don’t paint them all with the same brush. The uncle, he’s not bad.”

Then he did leave, and Damen watched him all the way back into the palace.

The cloud cover was thick, the day surprisingly gray. Damen turned back and squinted toward Isthima, but he couldn’t see even a shadow of land beyond the endless waves.

#

On the final morning of their visit, Laurent had deigned to join Auguste and Damen on a ride down the beach. It was easiest to pull Laurent out of the palace if they were riding. He seemed to enjoy that best.

They rode north first, away from the palace, until Damen found the steep trail that led down the cliffs to the shoreline. Damen let his horse pick the way, and Auguste and Laurent soon followed suit with theirs. The sun beat down on him, on his exposed legs, and when they had reached the shore, Damen dismounted and waded into the clear water.

Auguste joined him on one side, squinting against the rising sun. Laurent waded in on Auguste’s other side, carefully navigating around the large stones dotting the sand. Laurent had finally opted to wear the chiton, likely because of the unwavering heat of summer. Damen could see that the tops of his shoulders had turned pink.

They all stood for a long few minutes, watching the sun glint off the waves. Damen considered stripping down and wading in the water, but he knew that Laurent wouldn’t join them, and Damen was reluctant to leave him alone on the shore.

Eventually, Auguste broke the silence. “I saw your brother has returned.”

Damen turned to him, surprised. “Weeks ago. You only saw him recently?”

Auguste frowned. “Yesterday, for the first time.” A beat. “He didn’t seem pleased to see me.” His voice was light, but Damen heard the question there.

“He’s still troubled by this…cooperation. He’ll come around.”

“He won’t.”

Damen turned. Auguste had done so as well, so they were both staring at Laurent. “He won’t come around,” Laurent said.

Auguste began to speak, his tone reproachful, but Damen spoke over him. “Why do you say that?”

Laurent met his gaze. “He hates us. He hates Veretians. And he isn’t the type to change his mind.”

It was succinct, and possibly correct. Kastor didn’t change his mind easily, true, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t.

“He will,” Damen said, believing it. His father was tired of war, their countries were tired of war. Damen didn’t want that to be his legacy as king, and he suspected that Auguste didn’t either.

Laurent said nothing, but one pale eyebrow had arched, clearly unconvinced. He exited the water and returned to his horse. Not long after, Auguste joined him. Damen waited until the sun had fully risen over the sea before turning back to the horses as well. The two golden princes would be gone in an hour, back to Vere, and to Arles, and their bright court.

On the trip back up, Damen carefully navigated his horse beside Laurent’s, who gave him a quick look.

“Well?” said Damen. “Have I done my duty as host? Was your trip enjoyable?”

Pale eyelashes flickered. “I haven’t decided yet.” He glanced at Damen from the corner of his eye. “I suppose if you see me again, you’ll know.”


	3. Delpha

Damen had made the ride to Marlas more times he could count, to the point where he could likely go the whole way with his eyes closed.

This time was no different, except that in addition to a small retinue, he had also brought a companion.

“It has been a long time since I’ve seen Nikandros,” said Jokaste.

Damen looked at her. She was reclined in the small carriage, fanning herself. The curls of her blonde hair tumbled forward over her shoulder, down to her breasts.

“He’ll be glad to see you,” said Damen, hoping it was true. Nikandros hadn’t been charmed by Jokaste the last time they had met, though it had been years ago.

At Jokaste’s request, they stopped briefly to look at the ruins of Sicyon. All that was left of the Artesian empire now were curving marble arches and stone steps, overgrown by wildflowers and weeds, and crumbling slowly.

“Strange,” Jokaste mused, exiting the carriage and touching one of the marble pillars. “To think that Akielos and Vere were one, once.”

Damen came to stand beside her. “Maybe they could be again.”

She looked at him, pale eyebrows arching. “An alliance is not the same thing as a single empire.”

“No,” Damen said. He was staring at a set of stone steps that led upward to nothing.

“At any rate,” she said, walking slowly away, her gaze passing over the scenery. “An alliance with the Veretians is unlikely enough.”

“Not as unlikely as you might think,” Damen said, following her. “Father has been corresponding with King Aleron for years now.”

She waved a hand over her shoulder. “A passing spell. You know as well as anyone that the Veretians could charm the tail off a rat.”

“You sound like Kastor,” Damen said.

“You’d do well to listen to him,” Jokaste said. Then, with a cool glance over her shoulder, “Or me.”

Jokaste was staying for a few days at the fort at Karthas. She had said a friend, a courtier from Ios, had arrived there a few days before. They deposited her and a small retinue at the edge of the palace with her assurance she would meet them at Marlas in a few days.

They continued on. They had to cross all of Delpha to reach Marlas, and by the time they did it had turned dark. The retinue had hardly entered the main gate before Nikandros had descended the front steps to meet them.

“Damianos,” Nikandros said. He took the reins of Damen’s horse seemingly without thinking, watching as Damen dismounted. “I wasn’t expecting you for another fortnight,” he said.

Damen grinned, gripping his shoulder. “I thought you’d be pleased for the company,” he said. Then, at Nikandros’ anxious look. “Or not?”

“No, I—I meant, of course I am glad to see you, however there’s just—”

He was clearly anxious, his dark gaze flicking over Damen. He was still holding the reins to his horse. Damen had just opened his mouth to ask what had made him so nervous when another figure appeared on the front steps.

A tall, blond haired someone. Not Auguste.

“Only,” said Nikandros, following Damen’s gaze, “the delegation from Vere is here.”

Laurent descended the front steps. He was wearing a chiton that glowed in the darkness, nearly as pale as his golden hair.

“I didn’t know,” said Damen. “When—”

“Weeks now,” said Nikandros. “They were meant to be gone by the time you arrived.”

“No matter,” said Damen. He looked at Nikandros. “Surely you’ve heard by now: Vere and Akielos are nearly friends.”

Laurent hadn’t gotten any farther than the front steps. He stood at the entrance to the castle as though it were his, and Damen reasoned that if Laurent were comfortable anywhere other than Vere, it would be Delpha, or as Laurent would call it: Delfuer. 

Damen went to meet him slowly, leaving his party behind. He stopped at the base of the staircase, so Laurent towered over him.

“Damianos,” said Laurent in greeting. He had his weight balanced on one hip, his opposite leg bent at the knee, the inside of his pale thigh clearly visible.

“Laurent,” Damen said. “You look well.”

“It’s the Veretian air,” said Laurent.

Damen mounted the first step. “Delpha is part of Akielos.”

Laurent’s mouth twisted into a smile. “For now.”

Damen was ready to mount the second step, but Nikandros’ voice had him pausing and turning around. “Damianos.”

Nikandros was looking at Laurent. When he realized he had Damen’s attention, his gaze shifted to him instead. “I’ll have a servant show you to your rooms.”

“The rooms that I stay in every visit?” Damen asked.

Nikandros had the decency to look embarrassed, but a servant still appeared and led Damen to his rooms, away from Laurent.

And right to Auguste. They’d barely entered the hall when Auguste was suddenly in front of him, hugging Damen hard and fast, then gripping his arms and looking at him.

“Gods,” he said, tilting his head back. “Is it possible you’re still growing?”

“It’s possible you’re shrinking,” Damen said, and Auguste shot him a mock-affronted look. He whisked Damen away immediately, to a goblet of wine and a great deal of food, and Damen felt himself unwinding, falling easily into Auguste’s familiar presence.

#

Auguste visited the nearby village the next day. Damen, who had been to Delpha not long before, stayed behind. He made his way through the gardens, pausing to sit in the shade of an orange tree. He was on the verge of dozing off in the light breeze when Laurent came upon him.

"Stars or crowns?" Laurent asked. Damen opened his eyes and looked up to find Laurent standing over him, holding a silver lei between his thumb and forefinger.

Damen met Laurent’s gaze and found himself caught by the pellucid blue of his eyes. "Stars."

Lauren flipped the coin into the air with a thumb, catching it as it came down and opening his palm to see the outcome. His gaze met Damen's again. "You lose."

Damen smiled in spite of himself. "What have I lost?"

Damen could practically feel Laurent's hesitation. He held himself still, turning to gold-embossed stone for a long moment. Then he broke, lifting his chin. "You have to come riding with me."

A warm breeze blew across them, bringing the faint scent of oranges and lilac bushes. Damen attempted not to look too eager. He rose to his feet. "What would have happened if I'd won?"

Laurent smiled, shockingly sweet. “I suppose you’ll never know.”

The rode until they reached the border to Vere, where they paused to overlook the rolling landscape.

“Planning an escape attempt?” Damen asked.

Laurent looked at him. “I didn’t realize I was being held prisoner. Are negotiations between our countries going so poorly?”

Damen smiled. “I’d say they’re going shockingly well.”

“Shocking for whom?”

“For everyone,” said Damen. “Or is this where you say you knew everything would work out in the end?”

Laurent held himself still for a long moment, long enough that his horse grew anxious, and leaned to the left, taking a few sideways steps. Laurent brought her back under his control. “I’d say we haven’t reached the end yet. There’s no way to say whether it has ended well or poorly.”

“You think there’s still a chance for failure?”

Laurent laughed, humorlessly. “Oh, yes.”

Damen turned, facing Laurent more fully. “And what of the trade routes that have already been negotiated? What of Delpha, which is already opening its borders, allowing people to flow freely?”

“Minor changes,” Laurent said, “after decades of animosity.”

“I realize this will take time,” Damen said. “You’re right that animosity on both sides is deep. But it’s already happening. If our families want this alliance to happen, it will.”

Laurent watched him very carefully. He was clearly on the precipice of saying something, wondering if he should continue. Then, “And what of the members of our families that don’t want it to happen?”

“Such as?”

Laurent paused again, but it was shorter this time, not as if he was judging whether to say something, but steeling himself to actually say it. “Your brother,” he said. “My uncle.”

Damen blew out a long breath. He urged his horse forward, crossing the countryside into Vere. Laurent drew up beside him. “You underestimate Kastor,” Damen said. “He is resistant to change, but he’s not stupid. He knows that an alliance is necessary for peace. We are all tired of war.”

“You’re speaking for your brother?” Laurent asked. “Not yourself?”

“Both of us,” said Damen.

Laurent hummed, but said nothing else. Damen could feel his doubt, but as resolute as Laurent was about Kastor’s determination to fell the alliance, Damen was just as resolute in his belief of Kastor’s ability to see it through.

And in the end, it wasn’t up to Kastor. Kastor would not be king. 

“You are blinded by loyalty,” Laurent said, eventually.

Damen laughed. “And you’re not? What would you do if I told you Auguste was working against you?”

“Laugh in your face,” Laurent said at once. “But that is because Auguste’s nature is nothing like Kastor’s.”

“How many interactions have you had with Kastor?” Damen asked.

It was clear Laurent already knew what Damen was thinking. His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “None.”

“And yet you know him that well?”

“I know he’s been planting seeds against you,” said Laurent. “And I know what it is to be set upon by your own family.”

Damen looked up, and their gazes snagged.

“My uncle,” Laurent said. “He and Kastor are of a like mind. They prefer war over peace.”

Damen shook his head. “I…can’t believe it.”

He was thinking of how they were as children; playing together, fighting together, laughing together. Kastor was hotheaded, sometimes irascible, but he had always protected Damen when he could, had always been there for Damen when he needed him. That was his older brother.

“Believe it, and live,” Laurent said.

Damen took a slow breath, forcing himself to ask. “Or?”

Laurent was still beside him. The golden afternoon light bounced off his porcelain skin. His eyes were all blue. “Or suffer his betrayal.”

#

Damen didn’t know what to make of his talk with Laurent. Laurent, who was intelligent and shrewd, but who didn’t know Kastor like Damen did. It was unsettling, then, to talk with Nikandors a few days later, and hear nearly the same warning.

“There is talk among the kyroi,” Nikandros said. They were walking past the training arena, out onto the lawn.

“Talk?”

Nikandros’ gaze swept around them before leaning closer Damen. “Kastor…will not see the alliance with Vere to its finish.”

Damen looked at him quickly. “Why would they say this?”

“He’s been visiting the kyroi…telling tales. I cannot say what for sure, he hasn’t yet sought me out.”

“Nor will he, if that’s truly his goal.”

Nikandros hesitated, then said, “Makedon has also made his doubts known.”

Damen grimaced. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“He has fought the Veretians all his life,” Nikandros said fairly.

“We all have,” said Damen. “Yet _we_ are still determined to see this alliance through.”

Nikandros was silent. They had been walking through the west lawn, but Damen stopped beneath an apricot tree just beginning to grow fruit.

He turned to Nikandros. “We are still determined, aren’t we?”

Nikandros met his gaze. “Yes,” he said. “You know I would stand with you. Despite my…personal feelings, I believe that in the long run, this alliance is the best course forward. And I trust your judgment.”

“But?” Damen prompted, sensing there was something else.

“But it must be a unified front,” said Nikandros. “Kastor…cannot be allowed to turn the kyroi against you.”

Damen felt the surprise show on his face. “Turn them against me? Voicing his concerns—”

“Damianos,” Nikandros said, gently, and Damen could feel the fractures growing in their relationship, as Nikandros spoke to him more as he would a prince, a near-King, rather than his old friend.

Nikandros stared at him steadily, clearly needing Damen to understand. “That…is not all it is. Kastor has been to Sicyon to see Meniados. Meniados said…”

“What?” Damen asked. He could feel the pulse beating in his neck, getting faster. A breeze blew across them, rustling between the leaves of the trees.

“Kastor asked about his army. How many men he had now.”

Damen scoffed. “And so? Haven’t I asked you the same thing?” He began to move on, but Nikandros grabbed his arm, holding him in place. His gaze was so intent on Damen’s face he seemed not to have realized what’d he’d done, detaining a crown prince.

“Damen,” he said. “Please listen.” Another breeze, tossing Nikandros’ hair into his face for a moment. “Kastor asked Meniados how many men he would give to ride against Vere…when the time came.”

One of the under ripened apricots fell dully to the ground at their feet. Nikandros was just looking at him, waiting. The pulse in Damen’s throat grew faster.

“Bring me a messenger.”

Nikandros dropped his grip on Damen’s arm, and went.

When Nikandros returned with a young man, Damen sent a message to Meniados. Kastor was likely heading back to Ios by now, perhaps as close as Kesus, so Meniados should be alone to take his letter.

“Will he be truthful with me?” Damen asked.

“I believe so,” said Nikandros. “He knows that we are close…if he told me, he must have known I would tell you.”

They had reached a break in the foliage, a viewpoint to look out over the sea. “I will wait for his reply,” said Damen, “to decide my next course of action.”

Nikandros let out a slow breath. “As I said, I trust your judgment.”

#

Jokaste met them the next day. Damen, who had been so entrenched in his own thoughts, his doubts about Kastor, nearly forgot she was coming. By the time he had made it to the front of the palace, she had already emerged from her carriage and was walking up the front steps.

Damen met her at the same moment she reached Nikandros, who was standing in the doorway.

“Nikandros,” Damen said, and Jokaste turned to look at him in surprise. “You remember the Lady Jokaste?”

“Yes,” Nikandros said at once. “Yes, of course. My lady, I’m glad to see you again.”

“Nikandros,” Jokaste said, holding a hand out for Nikandros to kiss.

He did, bending and straightening over her hand a little stiffly.

Hardly a moment later, Jokaste swept inside with her maids, heading to her rooms.

Nikandros watched her leave, his gaze nervous, and Damen clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed by, agreeing with the feeling.

They were nearly ready for supper when Jokaste returned from her room. She appeared like a vision in a draped blue chiton that fell to the floor, her golden hair tied at the back of her neck. 

Damen put a hand on her elbow when she appeared, guiding her in. Jokaste seemed surprised but pleased, allowing Damen to lead her to Laurent and Auguste. As they drew nearer, Damen could practically feel the heaviness of her gaze as she assessed the two princes. He was curious about what she would find there.

“Jokaste,” Damen said, “this is Prince Laurent of Vere. Laurent, the Lady Jokaste.”

Laurent’s gaze moved to her. “My lady.” She held her hand out, her wrist elegantly balanced. Laurent did not hesitate to take it. It was unseemly for a prince, even a second son, to bend and kiss the hand of a Lady beneath his rank, but Laurent did it anyway.

Jokaste seemed pleased, her eyes glinting, and for a moment the two of them looked at each other, near-perfect mirror images in coloring and expression. Damen could only look between them.

Auguste seemed dumbstruck when he was introduced to Jokaste. When she moved away from them to look at the array of food, she took Laurent with her, and Auguste stared after them.

Damen cleared his throat, pointedly. Auguste turned to him, then frowned. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Don’t look at her like that,” Damen said.

Auguste shook his head. “She looks…”

“Yes?”

“She and Laurent could be twinned.” 

That was not what Damen had expected. He had thought the same, when he introduced them, but the way that Auguste was watching Jokaste made Damen uneasy.

“They are…similar.”

“Does she have his tongue as well?” Auguste asked.

Damen choked on his wine, and Auguste flushed.

“Not—” Auguste stammered. “I meant—his wit.”

Damen coughed again, feeling an embarrassed warmth crawl up the back of his neck. He didn’t have a chance to respond before Laurent appeared beside him.

Auguste’s eyes went wide, then he looked at Damen. Guiltily, Damen thought.

Laurent saw the look immediately, and turned to Damen as well. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Damen at once. “Just—bad wine.”

Laurent’s nostrils flared, as though attempting to smell the quality of the wine in the air. Damen curled the cup more closely to his chest.

Laurent looked between them once more. “Fine,” he said, and he went to sit at the table, Damen and Auguste trailing after him.

#

A day later, Damen received the response from Meniados. He was with Nikandros in the training yard when the messenger returned, and Nikandros was there to receive the letter when Damen brandished it at him after reading.

“He confirms it,” Damen said shortly.

Nikandros’ throat rolled as he looked up at Damen. “I’m sorry, Damianos.”

“What are you sorry for, Nikandros?” a voice said behind them. “Surely you haven’t bested my Damen in a match.”

They both turned to Jokaste. She leaned into Damen’s side and kissed his cheek easily.

“We’ve had a message,” Damen said, the warmth of her mouth lingering against his skin. He felt himself unwind, just a bit.

Jokaste’s sharp gaze moved from Damen’s empty hand, to the paper that Nikandros was tucking into a fold of his chiton. Her eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“Yes,” said Nikandros. Then his gaze shifted to Damen, hesitant. “I will…be silent about this. Until you decide your course.”

Damen nodded as Jokaste’s hand latched onto Damen’s arm possessively. Nikandros had made to leave when another voice rang through the yard.

“What is happening between you and my brother?”

They all turned at the shout.

Auguste was just looking at him. Damen, whose mind was elsewhere, tried to parse his question, and came up empty. “I—what?”

Auguste stepped closer. He was angry, Damen realized. He had never seen Auguste angry before—had never seen the tension in his shoulders or the hard line of his mouth.

“I don’t understand,” Damen said, disengaging from Jokaste and walking slowly toward him.

Behind him, he heard steel scraping as Nikandros unsheathed his sword. 

“You’ve seduced him!” Auguste shouted. “You’ve seduced him and then—what? Paraded your paramour in front of him? It’s not enough to make him—make him fall for you and then leave him—”

“ _Paramour_?” Jokaste repeated, not without some amusement.

“Auguste,” said Damen, holding a hand out placatingly. “I haven’t—”

“Liar,” Auguste said, spitting it out.

Damen’s hand dropped unthinkingly to the hilt of his own sword.

“ _Liar_ ,” Auguste said again. “Councilor Guion saw the two of you in Akielos—I saw it myself, but—I never thought you’d _take_ him—not then—not when he—”

There were soldiers watching. Auguste strode to the nearest one and took the sword clean out of his hand.

“Come now,” Jokaste said, voice light. “What’s all this fuss? Surely you cannot blame Damen for pursuing him.”

Damen rounded on her. “I _haven’t_ —” 

But it hardly mattered. Jokaste was looking at Auguste. “You’ve seen your brother, haven’t you? You’ve seen me. The only surprising thing here is that Damen hasn’t fucked you as well.”

Auguste’s face turned splotchy red, his eyes slits. He raised his sword to Damen. “Draw.”

Nikandros stepped forward, raising his own sword. “Step back,” he said.

Auguste’s angry gaze swung to him. “Stand down.”

“To raise a sword to the crown prince of Akielos—”

“Stand down,” Damen said to him. 

Nikandros looked at him, wavering for a long moment, then dropped his sword.

Damen raised his instead, and he had barely adjusted his stance before Auguste’s sword met his. Nikandros and Jokaste got out of the way in a hurry, backing up to the wall around the training yard.

Auguste was furious. Damen could feel it in every sword stroke, could hear it in every grunt of exertion. Unfortunately for Damen, Auguste was a skilled enough swordsman to not let his anger control him.

He was even better than he had been the last time Damen had fought him, and then they were evenly matched. They still were, but now Auguste had a reason to truly hurt Damen, at least in his mind.

“Auguste,” Damen said, parrying a blow that came worrying close to his left thigh. “Auguste—we haven’t done anything, I haven’t—”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Auguste said, swinging wide. Damen had to jump back to avoid the tip of the blade cutting open his stomach. “ _She said it herself_.”

Curse Jokaste. If she thought she was helping, she was dead wrong. Or maybe it would be Damen dead soon.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” said Damen, twisting out of the way of another jab.

“ _Guion saw you_ ,” he repeated. “And I—” He moved forward, and Damen parried another blow. “I see how you look at him—but I thought—I thought I could _trust you_ —”

Damen felt breathless, not from the fight. He hadn’t done what Auguste accused him of, he certainly hadn’t been with Laurent, but…

The thought had been there. Damen had pushed it, guiltily, out of his mind, but it was there. “Who—” _told you this_? was what Damen was going to ask. He had only met Councilor Guion a handful of times, and only once in the past few years, and it seemed unlikely he’d be the one spreading court gossip directly to the crown prince. But he never got the chance.

He had been too deep in his thoughts, and Auguste, fueled by rage, had found a weak point. Damen staggered back in sheer surprise when Auguste’s sword met his shoulder.

For his part, Auguste seemed as shocked as Damen, the anger seeming to flood out of him in a hurry, and he was left with a clear expression of bewilderment, and fear. When Damen fell back, Auguste’s sword came free, the end tipped in shining blood.

Nikandros was there suddenly, an arm around Damen’s waist, attempting to lower him into the dirt. Damen resisted, watching the blood flow in rivulets over his arm.

“Call the physician!” Nikandros yelled to one of the soldiers, who detached himself from the group and ran off.

“Damianos,” Nikandros said to him. “Please—sit—”

“He’s cut my shoulder, not severed a leg,” said Damen, remaining standing.

Auguste was still, just staring. “I—”

Jokaste appeared on Damen’s other side, and a moment later Laurent appeared suddenly beside his brother. Damen wondered if perhaps the wound was more serious than he’d thought. The events around him were coming in bursts.

“That doesn’t look so bad,” said Laurent, critically assessing the blood dripping off Damen’s fingertips and into the dirt.

“Thank you for your medical opinion,” Nikandros said, his arm still tight around Damen’s waist, as though he were expecting him to faint at any moment.

Laurent turned to survey Auguste’s shocked face. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked.

The physician arrived at that moment, leading Damen to his rooms before he could hear the response.

The wound was not serious. Painful, surprisingly deep, but the physician assured him it would mend without lasting consequences.

The physician had barely left before someone knocked on the door. “Enter.”

Nikandros slipped inside, closing the door firmly shut behind him. “Damianos—”

“Don’t.”

All the air seemed to rush out of him, and he sagged against the door. “You cannot believe I’ll allow him to go unpunished.”

“I believe it because I order it.”

Nikandros stepped forward, his tone going pleading. “Damianos, you—”

The door opened again, this time without a knock. Laurent stepped in as though he were invited, closing the door shut and throwing the bolt. He strode to an empty chair beside the wardrobe and sat down, smoothing the fabric over his thighs.

When he was finished, he fixed his gaze on Nikandros. “Apologies for the interruption. Please continue.”

Nikandros just gaped with the out of focus expression of a man who’d been clubbed over the head. Damen almost called the physician back. Nikandros looked at Damen pleadingly. 

“Can I help you, Laurent?” said Damen.

“Auguste sends his apologies.”

A long moment of silence. Then, seemingly unable to help himself, Nikandros said, “That’s it?”

Laurent looked at him. “That’s it.”

“Why didn’t Auguste send his apologies himself?” Damen asked.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Nikandros and Damen asked together.

Laurent looked nonplussed at the outburst. “Yes, gone.”

Damen’s head throbbed in time with his bandaged arm. “Why?”

Pale eyebrows rose over limpid blue eyes. “Oh, he ran you through with his sword.”

Nikandros sank slowly to sit at the foot of the bed.

“Nikandros,” said Damen, rubbing a hand over his temple. “Go call him back.” Then, before Nikandros could make any objection, “Go.”

He felt the bed lift, and Nikandros left. Damen could almost believe he was alone until he heard the shift of fabric. His eyes opened.

Laurent was studying him. “And just like that, he’s forgiven?”

Damen sighed. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“It was a plot.” When Damen looked at him, Laurent said, “Auguste received a letter from one of his men in Arles. He says he overheard a conversation in which Councilor Guion said you had been seducing me since your first trip to Vere.”

Damen frowned. “What’s the purpose? To sow discontent between Vere and Akielos? The people are already discontented.”

“If the nobles won’t fight for the alliance, it’s doomed.”

“It still seems a flimsy thing to base a rumor on.”

“Auguste seemed to think it was stable enough,” said Laurent.

The pounding in Damen’s head was steadily increasing. He reached up to rub his temple once more. For a long moment, they sat in silence.

Then Laurent said, “You haven’t asked for the letter.”

“Did you want to show me the penmanship?”

Laurent was staring at him, his expression calculating. “You didn’t even suspect Auguste might have been trying to kill you, that maybe the two of us had created the whole fabrication.”

Damen felt himself grow stiff, his shoulder aching at the sudden tension.

Laurent bared his teeth, slowly. It looked less like a smile and more like a predator cornering its prey. “Now you’re suspecting,” he said. “We didn’t create the fabrication. And knowing Auguste, he wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“If he had been, it’s unlikely you’d tell me.”

The predatory grin turned sweet in an instant. “If Auguste had been trying to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“Well, that’s a comfort,” said Damen, attempting to ease the ache in his shoulder. 

When Nikandros returned, Laurent left. Nikandros himself only stayed long enough to tell Damen he had retrieved Auguste at the border, and—Damen realized the first time he’d tried to exit his room—post a guard on his door.

Damen only allowed the guard to stay based on the knowledge that Nikandros himself would likely sit outside Damen’s door if all of his men were sent away. Instead, Damen left his room. He figured that Auguste was likely in his own room, and when Damen entered, he found he was right.

Auguste looked up, face even paler than usual, and when he saw who it was, he sat quickly down in a low bench in front of the window.

“Damen…” he said.

Damen shook his head, taking the seat beside him. “Laurent told me about the message.”

“I’m a fool,” Auguste said at once. “I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have believed it.”

Damen took a slow breath. The ache in his shoulder was edging toward his chest. “It is…unbelievable.”

Auguste glanced at him. “Unbelievable that you would treat Laurent callously. Not….” He broke off. 

When Auguste spoke again, it seemed as though he were forcing the words out. “Jokaste had a point. They do look similar.”

“It’s not that,” Damen said. He couldn’t look at Auguste.

“And Jokaste?”

The ache in Damen’s chest throbbed again. He didn’t respond.

#

Damen found Laurent standing on a small balcony, looking out toward the sea. They were leaving soon, back to Arles, and Damen could already feel the time lost expanding between them again; the years of no contact.

Laurent turned when he heard him, then leaned back against the wide balcony and watched him approach.

“You’re still wearing the chiton,” Damen said, unthinkingly.

Maybe Laurent flushed, or maybe it was the pink morning light playing off his skin. “I am still in Delpha, which is in Akielos, as you reminded me.”

“For another hour.”

Laurent stared at him. “Yes.”

“Will you tease me if I tell you I’ll miss you?”

Laurent’s lips came open, slightly. Then he said, “I don’t feel much in the mood for teasing.”

Damen came to stand beside him, leaning against the balcony as well. They weren’t touching, but they were still close enough for him to feel the heat of Laurent’s skin.

“Have you come to like Akielos after all?”

Laurent’s gaze was on the ocean as he said, “It is beautiful. And…”

“And?” Damen prompted. 

This time, Damen could see the blush on Laurent’s cheeks was real, and not just a flicker of light. “And the people…they are kind…honest.”

Damen swallowed. He was looking at Laurent’s profile, since Laurent wouldn’t look at him. Damen didn’t know what to do with this feeling in his chest, the one making it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt it.

He moved before thinking, reaching out to grasp the hand Laurent had wrapped around the balcony railing. Laurent startled, almost pulling away, but he didn’t. He looked at Damen with guarded eyes, his expression blank.

But his hand was still in Damen’s.

Damen took a breath, then held it. He brushed a thumb, slowly, over Laurent’s knuckles. He could feel callouses on Laurent’s hand; not the soft skin of a pampered princeling. There was a scrape on one of his knuckles.

There was a noticeable tremor in Laurent’s voice when he said, “Don’t be presumptuous.”

But his hand was still in Damen’s.

Damen supposed, if he was already presumptuous, there was no harm in doing what he really wanted. He moved his thumb out of the way, then leaned in slowly, his gaze caught by Laurent’s, and brushed his mouth over the pale skin of Laurent’s knuckles instead.

The only response was a slight hitch in Laurent’s breath, and a spasm of his fingers.

But his hand was still in Damen’s.

Damen slowly straightened again. “Too late, sweetheart.”

Damen released Laurent’s hand at the same moment Laurent made to pull it away. Damen half expected Laurent to pull it against himself protectively, but instead he placed it back on the railing, exactly where it had been before. He had gone back to looking at the sea, instead of at Damen.

Damen could still see the pink on his cheeks. He could also feel Laurent’s dismissal. He took a step back, ready to return to the main hall and leave Laurent in peace.

“I’ll see you soon,” Damen said. “We are due for a trip to Vere.”

Laurent was silent for so long Damen thought he wouldn’t respond. He had just turned to go inside when Laurent said, “Find me in Arles.”

Damen’s heart thudded hard in his chest. Then he smiled, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~this chapter is only about nikandros~~
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> the stars or crowns bit is from [here](https://www.penguin.com.au/content/kings-rising/map)
> 
> thank you for reading/commenting/leaving kudos!!!!!


	4. Vere

When his father had presented him the opportunity to go to Vere on his own to discuss the alliance, Damen had jumped at the opportunity. Theomedes had not been feeling well for months, and someone needed to meet with the Veretians. Kastor, who had no love for Vere, had volunteered to stay with their father while Damen left.

His father wasn’t unwell enough to cause Damen any real concern; it was exhaustion, their physician assured him. A few months of rest and he’d be well again.

So Damen rode for Vere. He remembered the roads from the last time he had taken them, and the palace, when it appeared on the hill, seemed nearly as familiar to Damen as the palace in Ios. He had only been here once before, but the memories remained clear and untouched in his mind.

Per custom, the royal family and the important members of their court met Damen and his retinue when they arrived. Damen paid the required obeisances, and then was led inside.

Not long after, he found himself alone in a sitting room with Auguste and Laurent.

“How is your father doing?” Auguste asked, passing Damen a goblet of wine.

Damen took it, gratefully, leaning back in the sofa. There was a fire blazing in the hearth. Laurent was leaning against the mantle, the flickering golden light behind him.

“The same, since I left,” said Damen. “I received a message from Jokaste when we reached Marlas.”

Auguste’s eyebrows rose, slightly. “And Jokaste? How is she?”

Damen didn’t know how to answer that, and hesitated for a long moment. There was still hurt there, and betrayal, and not a little embarrassment. “She…she is with Kastor, now.”

Laurent shifted slightly on the outskirts of Damen’s vision and Damen looked over, only to find him the same, his expression inscrutable. Auguste’s eyebrows had raised even further.

“I’m…sorry,” he said.

Damen sighed. “It’s—It was a while ago, now.”

For a long moment, they were all quiet. Then Auguste lifted his cup, his expression serious. “To your father’s good health.”

They drank. Laurent, who had no cup, just watched. The guttering light cast shadows in the hollows of his face and body, making him look more severe than usual.

Laurent, who every year that Damen saw him only managed to get somehow, impossibly, more beautiful, was watching Damen watch him from his perch. After a while, after a full goblet of wine and half of another, Laurent moved to sit beside him on the low couch. They weren’t touching, but Damen felt the warmth of his presence—the warmth of Laurent’s skin, and the fire, and the wine—as though they were.

After another goblet Auguste left, bidding them goodnight. Damen had sunk into the couch cushions, watching the fire grow lower.

At one point Laurent stood and stoked it, and Damen found himself intrigued and strangely charmed watching Laurent perform tasks reserved for servants. When he sat down again, he was marginally closer on the couch. When Damen spread his legs apart, making himself more comfortable, their knees rested together.

He watched, fixated, waiting for Laurent to pull away, but he didn’t.

Damen took another sip of his wine. He could feel himself on the edge of drunkenness—wanting to lay himself bare to Laurent, right here.

“Two years,” Damen said.

Laurent was also leaning back into the cushions. He still didn’t look completely relaxed, but it might have been the closest Damen had ever seen him.

“Not,” said Laurent, “quite.” 

Damen thought, then smiled. “No, not quite. But you’ve had two birthdays since the last time I saw you.”

He saw a sudden rise in Laurent’s chest, breathing in sharply. “Yes.”

His eyes were dark in the firelight. His skin looked more golden than pale, flawless and glowing. Damen felt a hitch in his own breathing.

“When my father told me I needed to visit Vere…I was happy. Excited.”

Laurent’s mouth curled up. “Thinking about crossing the border? Coming to live in the civilized part of the world?”

Damen smiled. “Vere is beautiful,” he said. “But the country is not what I was excited to see.”

Laurent’s body stilled. For a long moment, it looked as though he’d stopped breathing. Then in stages he relaxed. His eyes met Damen’s and caught. For a long moment they just looked at each other.

Then the fire cracked, and Damen involuntarily glanced away. When he looked back at Laurent, he had turned to the fire and was now presenting his profile to Damen. His beauty was heart stopping. 

Damen put his goblet down on a nearby table and straightened in his seat. At the shift in position, Laurent looked around, as though making sure he wasn’t doing anything suspicious.

A formless want was forming in Damen’s mind. If he were honest with himself, he knew that it had been there for years, steadily growing. Jokaste was with Kastor, Kastor, who hadn’t properly spoken to Damen in months…and his father was ill; had been slowly worsening for a while….

All of these things were connected, somehow, along with the man sitting just a few feet from him, his whole body glowing in the soft light. Laurent, who was honest, and kind, who was content to sit here in silence with Damen on his first night away from home.

In a sudden stroke of resolve, Damen knew what he wanted.

Once decided, Damen steeled himself. The next task, the one before his ultimate goal, would not be pleasant.

The next morning, he took Auguste riding, pausing at the edge of the forest to the north, skirting the tree line toward Varenne. 

“Auguste,” he said, and almost at once Auguste cast him a wary look from the top of his horse.

“I take it now is when you’re finally going to tell me what has been keeping you so quiet the whole ride?”

Damen frowned. “I—yes.”

Auguste brought his horse to a stop, turning to face him, his shoulder set. “Go on, then.”

“It’s…about Laurent,” said Damen.

Uncharacteristically, Auguste remained silent, only watching him. Damen had a thought that Auguste already suspected what was coming, though Damen didn’t think that was truly possible.

Damen took a breath. “Over…the past six years, you know that I’ve…become close to your family.”

“Yes,” Auguste said. “I’ve been there.”

“Right,” Damen said, pausing again. His horse jittered a step, sensing his nervous energy, and Damen pulled her under control again. “Obviously we’ve become close,” he said, “but I’ve also become close to Laurent. In…in a different way.”

Auguste’s look of wariness had turned to wary amusement. “Ah,” he said.

Damen opened his mouth to blunder on, but Auguste spoke over him again.

“You know,” he said lightly, “Laurent has had many suitors in six years.”

Damen tensed, and his horse took a few quick steps forward. Damen swore and pulled her in again, biting back the instinctual _Who?_ he wanted to yell at Auguste.

Auguste must have sensed it anyway since his expression only turned more amused. “Laurent has turned them all down,” he said.

“Oh.”

“I don’t know why,” Auguste said, and he began to move his horse forward again. “He never told me.”

Damen, engrossed by the conversation, only just remembered to urge his horse forward to follow 

“But you’re different,” said Auguste. “Laurent already likes you.”

Damen closed his eyes briefly. “Could…it be more than that?”

He saw Auguste’s cheeks turn pink. “I don’t know,” he said. He stopped his horse again. “What do you like about Laurent?”

Damen understood he was being tested. Auguste’s gaze, usually friendly, was steady and intent on his face.

“Everything,” said Damen, and then, when Auguste’s eyebrows lifted, waiting for more, Damen continued. “He’s smart, kind…I like talking to him. He makes me think of things I never have before. He’s sweet…even though he tries to hide it.” Damen took a breath. “I want to know him better.”

Auguste was quiet for a long time. Damen wondered if he should say more—he could, but he already felt anxious, embarrassed. It was difficult to bare his feelings, to explain what exactly entranced him so much about Laurent. It really was…everything.

“Right,” Auguste finally said. “That’s satisfactory.”

Damen sagged before he truly realized how tense he had been. For a few minutes they continued onward again, both quiet. Damen knew how things should be done, but he still had to ask the question, in the hope that Auguste would tell him it wasn’t necessary.

“Should I talk to your father?”

“No,” Auguste said at once. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “Yes.”

“Thank you,” said Damen. “That’s very helpful.”

Auguste sighed. “It’s only…he won’t like it—”

“Why not?” Damen asked, affronted.

“Because,” Auguste stressed, “if Laurent weds you, he won’t be able to continue the line.”

“Weds?” Damen asked, voice choked. “I haven’t asked for his hand—only…” He broke off. His neck was hot under his Veretian clothing. “Besides,” he went on, leaving that thought behind, “it would be useful for an alliance.”

Auguste thought on that for a moment. Then he said, “Lead with that.”

#

“Laurent,” Damen said, his heart pounding. “May I speak with you?”

Laurent glanced up at him, then continued eating his breakfast. “Don’t bother,” he said. “My father has already spoken with me.”

Impossibly, Damen’s heart beat faster. He had been run through with a sword twice, he had been in battles, and yet he was sure he had never been this nervous before in his life.

“Regardless,” said Damen. “I’d appreciate a word.”

Laurent set his utensils down and looked up, pinning him with a cold stare. “Or else you’ll stand there staring at me until I leave, in which case you’ll follow me out?”

“It,” said Damen, “crossed my mind.”

Laurent’s face tightened, almost imperceptibly, then he pushed his chair back and stood, barely glancing at Damen as he left.

Damen felt the eyes of the rest of the party on him, but he didn’t look back before following Laurent.

Laurent led Damen up the staircase and into an empty sitting room, where he waited for Damen to enter before closing the door behind them.

Then he turned to look at him, his expression implacable.

Damen took a slow, steadying breath. “You already know I spoke to your father.”

“Yes,” said Laurent. “It was kind of him to tell me you were going to force yourself on me.”

Damen frowned. “Laurent, before I spoke to you, I wanted to be sure that everything…was ready. I’ve talked to Auguste—”

“So I’m the last to know?” Laurent said, coolly. He sat slowly in an empty chair, his back stiff.

Damen moved closer, stopping before he was towering over him, giving him space. “I didn’t mean for—as I said, I wanted there to be no…obstacles, before I spoke to you.”

He’d hardly finished before Laurent spoke, as though he hadn’t heard a word Damen said. “More fool I, I never expected you to be so enterprising.”

“Enterprising?” Damen asked, frowning in confusion. This conversation was well out of his hands.

“My father informed me that our…courtship would be useful to forging an alliance.” Blue eyes met Damen’s, accusatory. “He told me you said that to him.”

Damen felt himself sag, his eyes closing for a long moment. So this was the issue. Laurent, thinking Damen’s interest was merely tactical, would now do everything in his power to keep Damen away.

Damen opened his eyes and strode forward. There was a chair near Laurent’s, and he pulled it forward, even closer.

If possible, Laurent grew even stiffer at the sound of wood dragging across the floor, then Damen sank into the chair and Laurent shifted out of the way before their knees could bump, glaring at him.

“Laurent,” said Damen. “I said that for your father’s benefit. I thought—I thought he would deny my request if I told him only of my personal feelings.”

Laurent’s eyelashes flickered. He wouldn’t ask.

Damen answered anyway. “I told him that I admired you—your honesty, your integrity, your strength of mind. I told him that…despite what others might think, I knew you to be kind, and strong.”

Laurent wasn’t looking at him. He had turned his face away. Damen shifted further forward in his chair.

“Laurent,” he said, “I wouldn’t be here if this was only politics. I…would not hurt you.”

Laurent looked at him then, face blank. Damen waited, but after a moment, Laurent turned his gaze back to the wall.

Damen sighed and stood, putting the chair back in its rightful place.

“Talk to Auguste,” Damen said. “If you can’t trust my word, trust his.” 

Still Laurent was silent, so Damen left.

#

He cornered Auguste later in the day. Auguste, who took one look at Damen striding toward him across the east lawn and audibly sighed.

“Yes, I talked to him,” Auguste said, before Damen could even ask. “He’s somewhere in the palace.”

“Did it—” Damen started to ask, but Auguste put a hand on his back and forcibly shoved Damen away. 

“ _The palace_ ,” Auguste emphasized. “I no longer have the energy to talk to either of you.”

Damen stumbled away, given no other choice, and went in search of Laurent. He found him in the throne room. He was surprised, having been in the room a handful of times before. Laurent was on the raised dais, looking at the empty throne.

Damen’s footsteps echoed loudly in the deserted room, and Laurent looked up at once.

Laurent came down to meet. Damen hadn’t been expecting that, but he managed to keep walking, to meet Laurent in the middle of the room.

“I talked to Auguste,” said Laurent.

“Should I repeat everything that I like about you?” Damen asked.

Laurent blinked. “I remember.” He straightened. “And Auguste told me that you’ve been wanting to court me for years.”

Damen hadn’t said it outright, but he supposed it was true. He nodded.

He saw Laurent swallow. He saw Laurent take a step closer. His gaze met Damen’s for only a moment before it skittered away again.

Damen took hold of Laurent's wrist. Laurent went still as stone beneath his hand, but his eyes widened, his mouth parted, seemingly without his notice. Shifting his grip, Damen pressed a forefinger to the translucent skin on the inside of Laurent's wrist, feeling the rabbit-fast beat of his heart.

"Your heart is pounding," Damen said, his voice emerging quiet, almost reverent.

Laurent's hand twitched in reaction, almost as though he were going to pull it from Damen's grip. Miraculously, it seemed to Damen, he didn't.

He was expecting a flippant remark, equal parts dreading the end to whatever was blooming between them, and hoping for a return to normalcy for Laurent. It was fascinating and worrying to see him so out of his element.

"I…" Laurent swallowed, his lips pressing together and then parting again. Damen's eyes followed the motion, and then kept looking once it had passed. "I'm nervous," he said.

"Really," Damen said, warmth blooming in his chest.

Laurent's cheeks reddened. He licked his lips slowly, and Damen was captivated by the movement. He might have leaned in.

"Really," Laurent said. Damen watched his mouth form the word. If possible, the heartbeat under Damen's fingers pounded faster. He could feel an answering beat in his own chest, keeping pace.

For a long moment they stood, looking at each other. Then Damen released his hold on Laurent’s arm, skimmed his fingers over the warm skin and taut muscle of his forearm, up, over his elbow. Damen watched as the fine hairs on Laurent’s arm stood on end. Laurent shuddered.

“Laurent—”

“Don’t,” Laurent said quickly, and Damen nearly stepped back. But then Laurent said, “Don’t ask.”

Damen’s breath left him. He leaned in and kissed Laurent on the mouth.

The arm under Damen’s hand remained tense, but Laurent’s mouth was pliant, his breath fast on Damen’s face. Damen moved in even closer, raising a hand to the nape of Laurent’s neck, rubbing against the skin, feeling the soft, golden hair.

He broke away before the kiss could deepen, meeting Laurent’s eyes. Laurent extricated his arm from Damen’s grip, and Damen almost stepped back, but then Laurent was wrapping both arms around Damen’s neck, drawing him in, and this time when they kissed, Damen allowed it to deepen.

There was an unreal quality to all of it, in the fact that Damen, who had thought about this for years, was now finally experiencing it. Experiencing Laurent’s mouth on his, experiencing the slickness of Laurent’s tongue against his, the feeling of Laurent’s waist under his hands as he pulled Laurent closer.

In the end, it was Laurent who finally stopped the kiss, who broke away and then let his forehead hang forward for a moment, resting against Damen’s chest. Then he backed up a step, glancing around.

His cheeks were pink, and there was a bit of hair at the crown of his head and was tangled and standing up. Helplessly, Damen reached up and smoothed it back down, liking the confusingly pleased look on Laurent’s face as he did it.

“Laurent,” Damen said, realizing suddenly that he hasn’t asked yet—not directly. “I’d like to court you. Will you let me?”

Laurent touched the spot on his head where Damen had smoothed his hair down. He was still flushed. “Yes.”

#

The first kiss had set a precedent for all the others. In the garden a few days afterward, Laurent allowed himself to be pushed against the trunk of a tree and kissed. Damen was heady with the knowledge that Laurent allowed it, that Laurent curled his arms around Damen’s neck and opened his mouth to him and seemed to want it.

Damen’s hands on Laurent’s waist found only fabric, with only the hint of Laurent underneath. Damen wished they were in Akielos, where Laurent could wear the thin chitons and Damen could feel the shape of him underneath.

When they parted, Laurent’s eyes stayed closed. His lips were swollen.

Damen could feel his heart pounding in his throat, under the fabric of his jacket. He began to unlace the ties at his arms, then the ones at his throat, stripping the jacket off.

Laurent’s eyes had come open, and he was watching. “It’s too hot,” Damen said.

Laurent pushed away from the tree, slowly, and began to unlace his own jacket. Damen watched, entranced, unable to help himself, until Laurent cast the fabric aside and then stepped forward once more.

This time when Damen’s hands lifted, unthinkingly, to Laurent’s waist, he could feel the heat of him, the feeling of taught muscle and bone under his palms. He felt overwhelmed with all that he wanted, but when Laurent tilted his face up, went up onto his toes to reach Damen’s mouth with his, Damen’s thoughts scattered.

It was a courtier who stumbled across them, forcing them apart. Laurent seemed unwilling to be pulled away, but Damen convinced him to walk deeper into the garden where they wouldn’t be seen.

From there they kissed in empty sitting rooms; in the throne room once more; Damen pressed him up against the wall in the main hall after dinner one night, then followed Laurent thoughtlessly onto the balcony and kissed him there as well.

He was so tied up in Laurent that he didn’t see Auguste for days. When Auguste did, finally, manage to corner him, he made it clear that he wanted no details at all on what Damen had been up to. Damen, who now had Laurent’s attention, wanted nothing more than to keep their courtship close and private and sacred, and was more than willing to talk about something else.

#

The night when it happened, Damen had followed Laurent up to his rooms after dinner, looking at the smooth skin on the back of Laurent’s neck and thinking that he wanted to put his mouth there.

He was distracted once he entered Laurent’s rooms, looking around. The first thing he noticed was the desk, and Damen moved forward to peer at the contents on top. He dragged a finger over the spine of one of the books stacked on top. Laurent was watching him when he looked up. “I thought you said you’d outgrown your books.”

Laurent was leaning against the wall. “I said that,” he agreed.

Damen felt a little warmth pool in his stomach, learning something new about Laurent, realizing that he hadn’t given up his childhood hobby. 

Once Damen caught Laurent’s gaze, he couldn’t look away. It was transgressive to be here, in Laurent’s room. Damen felt the impossibility of it even though Laurent had led him here.

He wanted to go forward, to touch the pale cheek under Laurent’s steady blue gaze, but he still didn’t know if it would be welcome…if Laurent would want it.

To distract himself Damen looked around the room instead. He couldn’t seem to stop his eyes from catching on the bed, large and lush, neatly made. And then Laurent moved into his line of sight, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Damen took a slow breath. Then he took another, trying to calm himself, when Laurent began to untie the laces to his jacket. When that was complete, he stood and slipped it off, draping it over a nearby chair. Then he sat back down on the bed.

Damen took a step forward. Laurent’s gaze met his, and Damen took another slow step forward.

Laurent was taking off his boots, pushing them aside with his foot. He was left in the thin white shirt and his clean pants. The bed was so tall that, sitting on the edge, Laurent’s toes only just grazed the floor. He was just looking at Damen.

Damen swallowed, and took another step forward. He couldn’t read the look on Laurent’s face, but he was confident, at least, that it wasn’t foreboding. If he didn’t want Damen any closer, he didn’t say anything, which Damen took to mean he could continue walking to the side of the bed until he stood just in front of Laurent.

Damen could see the rapid rise and fall of Laurent’s chest under his white shirt. The hollow of his throat and the line of his collarbone seemed to call to Damen, who slowly dropped to his knees in front of Laurent.

He could see Laurent swallow at the movement, and then Damen was very carefully putting his hands on Laurent’s knees, skating them up his thighs.

“A crown prince on his knees,” said Laurent, and Damen’s progress up his legs stopped.

Damen asked, “Right where you always wanted me?”

The answering flush in Laurent’s cheeks was enough, and Damen rose up higher, stretched his neck, to kiss him. In the end, Laurent didn’t meet him halfway, and Damen was forced, instead, to kiss the highest part of Laurent he could reach; the hollow of the throat he had been admiring. 

From here he could reach the fading bruises that he had put on Laurent’s skin; apply his mouth to them and darken them again.

If Damen’s own skin hadn’t been burning up, he suspected that pressing his mouth to Laurent’s neck would have scorched him. As it was, they seemed to meld together, both overheating, Laurent’s pulse beating just under Damen’s lips.

He reached a hand up, curled around the soft hairs at the back of Laurent’s neck.

Then suddenly Laurent was leaning away, and Damen looked up to see him lounging back on the bed, propped on his elbows. Damen rose too, carefully crawling up beside him, sinking into the plush covers.

Laurent watched, then reached out and began untying the laces at Damen’s throat. “You’re…overdressed.”

Damen smiled. “I’m in Vere. I’m always overdressed.”

Laurent’s fingers hesitated, then dropped away. “Well, since it’s your burden to bear, I guess you can be the one to remove it.”

Damen laughed, untying himself as quickly as he could, watching Laurent watch him do it. The light was dim, but Laurent’s shirt was thin enough to see through to the white skin beneath, the pink nipples. Damen removed his clothes even quicker, until he was in nothing but his pants.

Then suddenly he was being pushed onto his back by a forearm to the chest, and a moment later Laurent followed, sliding his thigh over Damen’s hips and straddling him.

Damen’s heart thudded hard in his chest, his hands resting instinctively on Laurent’s hips. He could feel Laurent’s hardness where they were pressed together, could see the bulge in the front of his pants. Damen’s breathing came faster. He ran his hands up, over the sharp hipbones, under the sheer shirt, to grip Laurent’s taut waist. 

Damen sat up, raising his hands further, gathering the shirt at his wrists. When his hands reached Laurent’s armpits he looked up, searching his face. It was as difficult to read as usual, but he was making no move to stop Damen, his color was still high. Damen lifted the shirt up and off, dropping it off the edge of the bed.

He was left with an expanse of pale skin and hard muscle. Damen let his hands trail back down Laurent’s arms, over his chest, catching at the hard nipples, brushing his thumbs over them until Laurent’s breathing started to come faster, his hips rocking against Damen’s.

Somehow, Damen felt his face get impossibly warmer. It was heady to have Laurent over him, in the quiet of his own bedroom, have him rock himself so insistently against Damen; pleasured by Damen’s hands. When he lifted his head to look at Laurent’s face, Damen was surprised to see him so close. It was easy, then, to tilt his head back just a little and fit their mouths together.

Laurent made a small noise that hit Damen like a blow to the stomach, made his hands tighten reflexively on Laurent’s hips.

It still seemed impossible to Damen that he could do this, put his hands on Laurent like this, curl his tongue into Laurent’s mouth and feel Laurent shudder in his arms in response. Damen wondered briefly if it’d always be like this; the feeling of impossibility that Laurent could want him, and could want to do this with him.

“Laurent,” Damen breathed, breaking away, trailing his lips down Laurent’s neck and over his shoulder. “Laurent.” He brushed his fingers over the soft hairs on Laurent’s stomach, dropped them down to the top of his pants. Laurent’s dark eyes met his. “Can—”

Laurent kissed him again, and Damen began to unlace Laurent’s pants as well, dipping his hand into the unbearably hot space between. Laurent was hard, leaking already, and he shuddered when Damen wrapped a hand around him.

“No—” Laurent said, and Damen froze. “I’m—” He rolled away, leaving Damen cold and bereft, and then he got off the bed.

Damen sat up, looking after him in a panic. Laurent didn’t look like he was running away, or moving to put his clothes back on, but he had left the bed after Damen touched him.

“I’m sorry,” Damen said. “Laurent, I—”

Laurent turned. The front of his pants were trailing laces, his face still flushed.

“Why are you apologizing?” Laurent asked, but before Damen could respond he had turned again, gone to a drawer in his desk and removed a glass phial.

Then he walked back to the bed.

Damen let out a relieved breath, laying back to stare at the ceiling. He looked up when he felt the bed dip…to find that Laurent had removed his pants as well.

It was too much to hope that Laurent would resume his previous position, but that was exactly what he did, straddling Damen’s hips once more. Then he was reaching between them, forcing Damen’s heart into an even faster beat, and began untying the laces on Damen’s pants.

Damen, who was still reeling by the fact that Laurent had come back to the bed, surged up to kiss him once more, feeling Laurent’s hands stutter between them. Together they forced Damen’s pants off and onto the floor, and when Laurent settled over Damen again, they both sighed at the contact. Damen smiled. When he pulled back, he could see the bottoms of Laurent’s pale feet resting on either side of Damen’s thighs. Even those were beautiful.

The phial was still in Laurent’s hand. He passed it to Damen with purpose, meeting his eye.

Damen’s mind, which had followed the events up until then with careful determination to memorize each second, quickly found his mind fracturing. He didn’t remember the time between being passed the phial and pressing two fingers into Laurent, still poised above him. He only remembered the look on Laurent’s face, the small line between his eyebrows, his mouth parting on a gasp.

He remembered Laurent rolling away, only for a moment, before dragging Damen over to lie on top of him, crushing him into the bed.

He remembered Laurent’s fleeting touch against the hottest part of him, urging Damen in, and Damen remembered kissing him at the same time he began to push inside.

He would remember, forever, the sound Laurent made as he did it, warm and soft and honest, and he would remember, once Laurent’s body opened to him, allowed Damen to fuck into him in earnest, the way Laurent’s gaze turned unfocused, the way his fingers dug into Damen’s shoulders, the way his blonde hair fell back off his forehead, grew dark with sweat around his temples.

And Damen would remember the feeling of Laurent coming in his arms, Laurent coming against his stomach, hot as blood, the way Laurent tightened around him and held Damen as he came inside.

The last shudders had hardly stopped shaking Damen’s body before Laurent was standing up. He disappeared through the far archway, and returned not long after with a washcloth. He hesitated at the edge of the bed, looking down at the cloth in his hands. Damen sat up.

“Is—” Damen began, and Laurent held it out to him. Damen took it, wiping himself down, and when he made to reach for Laurent he realized he was already clean. He was also putting his pants back on.

Damen took a last look at his body—the long thighs and sharp hips, the blond hair leading from his naval downward—before his clothing obscured him.

He didn’t move to put anything else on, and Damen just waited for a moment, watching, before Laurent finally climbed back into bed. He lay down beside Damen, their shoulders and thighs touching.

Damen could feel himself drifting. His eyelids were heavy. “I want to sleep with you,” he said.

He felt rustling, and then a moment later a blanket settled over him. He forced his eyelids open and found that Laurent was beside him, under the blanket as well.

“Then sleep,” said Laurent. A moment later, one of his hands came out to rest lightly on Damen’s bicep. Damen slept.

And woke the next morning to find himself curled toward Laurent, one of his hands reaching out to touch him. When his eyes opened, he saw that Laurent was already blinking blearily awake.

Laurent smiled, and unthinkingly Damen dragged him closer, dragged Laurent on top of him and kissed him. It was a slow, half-awake kiss, warm and wet, Laurent’s initial surprise slowly curling into something quietly eager. Damen’s hands ran down the curve at the small of his back to rest even lower, gripping the muscle and pulling Laurent tighter to him.

Laurent moaned softly into the kiss, and Damen gripped him tighter, thinking of everything he hadn’t been able to do last night, thinking of everything he had been able to do that he wanted to do again.

When the knock came, he didn’t even notice until Laurent turned his head and called, “Come in.”

“What—” Damen started to ask, looking around, and when he saw the servant enter the room he rolled out from under Laurent and pulled the covers to him.

Laurent’s attention was divided; he had to ask the servant to repeat himself.

“A message has come, Your Highness,” he said, as though he had walked in on the two of them eating supper.

“Bring it here,” said Laurent, holding out his hand.

The servant stepped forward, and then hesitated. “It—it is actually for the Crown Prince of Akielos.” His eyes shifted to Damen.

Damen sat up and took the small scroll. The servant bowed and made a hasty exit.

Laurent’s brow was furrowed, watching as Damen opened the scroll and read.

Damen, who believed he was at the height of happiness not five minutes ago, read the note and felt as if the floor had fallen right out from under his feet. “It’s my father,” he said.

Laurent’s gaze and voice were steady. “Is…”

“He’s alive,” said Damen. “But he’s worsened. Kastor…Kastor doesn’t know much longer—”

Damen was standing up, pulling on the complex Veretian clothing. He left everything unlaced.

Then he looked at Laurent. Laurent, who was still sitting shirtless in the middle of his rumpled bed. His hair was mussed.

“Laurent,” Damen said, stepping forward. “I—I need to go home.”

“I understand,” Laurent said.

Damen only hesitated, just staring at him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll—I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell him that this was real—that this wasn’t a ploy to get away after what had happened. Laurent was still a young man, a young man who had never been courted before; Damen wanted to tell him that he would be back, that this wasn’t it.

Laurent only looked at him. So Damen leaned forward and kissed him. He felt Laurent’s surprise, the tension in his shoulders, and then he leaned forward into the kiss, into Damen’s hand on his face.

Then Damen pulled back. “I’ll send word,” he said. “When I get there—when I know what’s happened.”

Laurent nodded, and Damen took one last look at him before turning to leave.

He had made it as far as the door when Laurent said, “Wait.”

Damen turned. Laurent had gotten off the bed and was standing there, barefooted and with his pants unlaced.

Laurent took a breath. “I could…go with you.”

If he hadn’t thought it would have strained Laurent to do it, Damen would have asked him to repeat himself.

“What about Vere?” Damen asked.

“My father would stay, Auguste would stay,” said Laurent.

Damen took a step toward him. “You’d really come with me?”

Laurent nodded, and Damen kissed him again.

#

Laurent had to clear it with his father, and Auguste, but he didn’t seem concerned. Knowing Laurent, Damen wasn’t very concerned either.

When Damen had gathered his retinue, had his things packed and the horses ready, he went to Laurent’s rooms to collect him as well. He paused outside of the doorway to his bedroom, out of sight, when he heard voices.

Auguste spoke first: “Take Jord with you.” 

There was a brief rustle, then Laurent said, “No.”

“Laurent,” Auguste said, voice firm. “Akielos has historically been an enemy of Vere. To travel there without me or Father—when their leader is on the brink of death….” He trailed off. “Please. If I have to stay here and keep track of Uncle…at least take Jord.”

“No,” Laurent said again. Damen could feel Auguste’s tension cresting, but then Laurent said, “If _I_ can’t be here, you need someone to look after you.”

For a long moment, Auguste was quiet. Then he said, “Who will look after you?”

Damen had expected for Laurent to say no one—that he’d look after himself, but what came out of Laurent’s mouth made Damen feel warm. “I’ll be with Damen.”

#

They left without Jord. Laurent had a retinue of his own, a guard of his own, but Damen understood that Jord was Auguste’s best man.

Except maybe for Damen.

They left for Akielos late in the day, and Damen’s fear, which had subsided in the wake of planning and getting his company together and gathering Laurent, was overtaking his mind now that they were heading to Akielos. The only good thing, the only bright spot, was the golden-haired man riding on a horse beside him, the man who glanced back at the palace in Arles as they left, before he set his eyes resolutely on the road ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments and kudos!!!


	5. Akielos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Real life stuff yadda yadda yadda

Damen’s horse had hardly come to a stop in front of the palace in Ios before he was swinging down.

He was in his father’s room in a matter of minutes. Kastor and the physician both looked up as he entered, but his father was pale and slit-eyed on the bed, and didn’t stir.

“Is he—”

“He’s alive,” said Kastor. The look in his eyes said: _but only just._

Damen came to sit on the edge of the bed, touching the back of his father’s clammy hand. He looked at the physician. “What is it?” he said. “I thought—a bit of rest and he’d be fine.”

“That was what I thought as well,” the physician said. “I’m not…sure….”

Kastor’s cold look made him falter and go quiet. Damen noticed this only peripherally, in the part of his brain that wasn’t focused on his father.

“So what are you doing to make him better?” Damen asked.

The physician startled, and Damen realized that his voice was loud in the hollow silence of the room, the kind of silence that fell after a death knell.

“I have a tonic,” the physician murmured. “I am giving it to him daily, observing how he responds…then making the necessary modifications.”

“And—” Damen didn’t get a chance to continue questioning because Laurent had come to stand in the doorway, and Kastor’s expression had turned to a look of pure fury.

Damen stood. Laurent was looking past Damen to the bed, his cool gaze assessing Theomedes. Sensing the boiling tension in the room, Damen gripped Laurent by the elbow and led him outside. Kastor appeared a moment later, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Damianos,” he said, though his gaze was fixed on Laurent. “What do you think you’re doing, bringing him here?”

“He’s a friend,” said Damen. “I wanted—”

“He is an enemy of Akielos,” said Kastor.

“And here I thought we were in the midst of forging an alliance,” Laurent said lightly. He had leaned himself back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

Kastor opened his mouth, but Laurent cut him off, pushing away from the wall and heading toward Damen. “I’ll let you two talk.” And then, just before he passed by, he leaned up and kissed Damen lightly on the cheek, hardly pausing to do it, before he continued sedately down the corridor.

Kastor looked frozen with fury. Damen let Laurent’s footsteps fade away before he started striding in the opposite direction, counting on Kastor to keep up. He did, after a moment.

“How is Jokaste?” Damen asked, before Kastor could shout at him.

“Gone,” he grunted. Damen nearly stumbled, but managed to catch himself. So Jokaste had abandoned Kastor as well as Damen.

“But I don’t want to talk about her,” Kastor said, his voice rising.

“What matters is that I’m here because of Father,” said Damen, pausing and turning to look at his brother. “Laurent and I are involved now. I’ve already gone to King Aleron. Now, how is Father, really?”

Kastor opened his mouth, clearly wanting to continue chastising Damen about Laurent, but then he seemed to sag, the fight leaving him. “Not well, Damianos. I think…it is only a matter of days.”

Damen had been expecting it; he had seen how frail and sick his father had seemed, but it was still difficult to hear. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know. He deteriorated not long after you left. We’re still unable to find the cause.”

Damen took that in, staring at a point on the wall over Kastor’s shoulder. “Well,” he finally said, “I’m glad I came, then.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Kastor stepped forward and put a hand on Damen’s shoulder. His face was earnest when he spoke, maybe even a little ashamed. “Despite my feelings about…him…I’m glad you came, as well.”

#

Damen didn’t know why he was surprised to enter his room and find Laurent sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed. “How is your father?”

Damen’s breath shuddered out of him. “Not well.”

After an extended moment, Laurent moved to the edge of the bed and stood, coming forward slowly. “What’s wrong with him?”

“The physician doesn’t know,” said Damen. “Not for sure.”

Laurent was quiet for a long moment, and Damen suddenly realized he was bone-tired. He sagged into a nearby chair and seemed to melt into it.

When Laurent spoke next, Damen was so deep in his own dark thoughts that he had to ask him to repeat himself.

Laurent shifted slightly from one foot to the other. “I said, how does your brother seem?”

It took a Damen a moment to parse this. “He seems….” Truthfully, he didn’t seem much different than the last time Damen had seen him. “He is handling it well,” Damen finally said.

Nothing from Laurent. Eventually, Damen looked up to find that Laurent had come to stand in front of him. He put a hand out, and unthinkingly Damen slipped his hand into Laurent’s. He allowed Laurent to pull him up, and then to push him down onto the bed.

When Laurent began to step back, Damen reached out, closing a fist in the fabric of Laurent’s tunic.

“Will you stay?” Damen asked. He could hear Laurent take in a little breath.

Then he said, “Yes.”

#

A few days into his visit, Damen arrived at his father’s room later than he usually did, having been tied up in a meeting with one of the visiting kyroi. Damen spent most of his time with his father, keeping a lookout by his bedside. Kastor came in and out periodically, as well as the physician who would encourage Theomedes to drink from his goblet of tonic.

In the evenings Damen would eat and then come to his room, where Laurent would be waiting, usually out on the balcony, peering at the sea, or sitting in one of the chairs in the center of the room with a book propped on his knees.

Kastor wasn’t in his father’s room when he entered, but Laurent was. He was standing at the physician’s shoulder, peering into the goblet he was pressing to Theomedes’ mouth.

“What is that tonic?” Laurent asked.

When Damen came in they both looked up. His father had stirred briefly at the feel of the cup, and was raising a hand. It was the most activity Damen had seen from him since he’d arrived, and he stepped forward at once.

The physician was trying to bring the goblet back to his mouth around his father’s gesturing arm. It seemed almost as though he were trying to push the cup away, but he quieted once he began to drink.

“What _is_ that tonic?” Damen asked, mirroring Laurent’s question. “It seems to be improving him.”

Laurent was staring at Theomedes, his expression unreadable.

“It is a mix of herbs and medicines,” said the physician. “I am still trying to perfect the mixture.” He, too, was staring at Theomedes’ now-slack face.

“I’d be interested in knowing the exact herbs and medicines,” said Laurent.

The physician looked first at Damen, who nodded, before he turned to look at Laurent. “Of course,” he said. “You’re welcome to visit me in my quarters at any time; I’d be glad to give you details.”

“Good,” said Laurent, his calculating gaze shifting back to Theomedes. “I’ll do that.”

#

On the seventh day in Akielos, Damen had entered his room after a grueling day. He had to meet with his father’s advisors on the current state of Akielos. Kastor had been taking the meetings while Damen was away, and had been forced unwillingly to step aside now that Damen had returned. Damen could feel the tide of power shifting out of Kastor’s favor, and was already dreading the unpleasant relationship they would have ahead after his father died.

This day, Laurent wasn’t in his rooms when he arrived, though he only had to wait a few minutes for the main door to open and Laurent to enter. He looked fresh and strong in his white chiton. Damen’s chest squeezed at the sight of him.

“Where have you been?” asked Damen.

“Meeting with your father’s physician,” said Laurent, coming to stand in front of the desk.

Damen, who had been in the process of unlacing his sandals, paused. “Oh?”

“Yes,” said Laurent. He wasn’t looking at him; his gaze was fixed on a pitcher of wine on the table.

“Did you learn anything?”

Laurent looked up. He opened his mouth, but hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

Damen was about to ask more, but Laurent kept talking.

“Who brought this?” His gaze had moved back to the pitcher of wine and the two goblets waiting for them on the desk.

“I’ve no idea,” said Damen. “It was here when I arrived.”

Laurent was picking up the pitcher, turning it in his hands to peer at the liquid inside.

Damen, amused, watched him until he felt the need to ask, “Do you intend to drink that, or play with it?”

Laurent didn’t look up, but he did put the pitcher down. “Neither.”

Damen finished unlacing his sandals and went to meet Laurent at the desk, picking up a cup and pouring some wine. “You could have one,” he said, reaching to pour another cup. He slanted a look to Laurent. “Maybe it will help you relax.”

Laurent took the cup out of Damen’s hand before it met his mouth, setting it down on the desk. “I have no trouble relaxing.”

Then he pushed Damen back to the bed, and demonstrated how true that was.

Later, when Damen untangled himself from Laurent to stumble to the adjoining bath, he paused as he passed the desk. Something was different, and after a moment he realized that the pitcher and cups were gone. 

Damen looked around, and an impulse, no doubt born from still being half-asleep, pressed him to go out onto the balcony. The cups were there, nearly-hidden in a dark corner, but the moon was bright enough to illuminate them as Damen drew closer. They were both empty, and the pitcher was nowhere to be found.

Damen took in another sweeping look of the balcony, and then suddenly leaned forward to peer over the edge. Down below on the stone, in a patch of flickering light from a guttering candle inside, was the pitcher, shattered and in a pool of wine.

Leaning back, Damen turned his head to look inside. Laurent was where he had left him; pale limbs exposed, one arm bent up next to his head, his fingers curling. There was no one else who could have done it.

He looked back down at the shattered remains of the pitcher, and then realized that it was far too late to follow the twists and turns of Laurent’s mind. He continued to the bath, and then back to bed. By the time he had woken the next morning, beside a warm and lazily charming Laurent, he had forgotten all about his nighttime excursion.

#

The days blurred together. Theomedes didn’t improve, but he never seemed to get much worse, either. He teetered on the edge of consciousness, only sometimes stirring to drink from the goblet the physician would bring him, or swallow a few bits of bread, or broth.

Damen was only a corridor away from his father’s rooms when he heard the yelling. He hurried his pace, feeling for the knife he had tucked in the back of his chiton.

He could follow the sound of voices, and then, as he got closer, the clash of steel. It was only when he rounded a corner and came upon the scene that he realized the altercation was happening just outside of his father’s rooms.

In front of him, a fight had frozen mid-action. Laurent, his back pressed against the closed door to Theomedes’ room, was keeping a lunging Kastor at bay with the length of his sword, crossed with Kastor’s. 

A goblet was overturned on the floor, leaking burgundy liquid across the floor. Kastor and Laurent were both looking at him.

Then Kastor reared back, disengaging. “Brother.” He stumbled over the goblet, kicking it away, coming toward Damen.

Damen stared as the cup rolled, bounced against the wall and rolled back. The hand of Kastor’s that wasn’t holding his sword had gripped Damen’s bicep, fingers digging in.

“Damianos,” he said. “I found him—outside of Father’s rooms—”

Laurent said nothing, was watching Damen silently from his post in front of the door.

“Why did you bring him here, Damianos?” Kastor asked. “He is a _Veretian_ —who knows what he would have done to Father if I hadn’t come….” Kastor’s face was flushed, his eyes frantic, staring at Damen.

The cup had stopped rolling. Damen looked at the puddle of liquid on the floor again, then up at Laurent’s guarded blue gaze. He was watching Damen closely, his body tense. Damen realized that Laurent was waiting for Damen to turn against him too, to face two swords instead of one.

“Damen,” Kastor said, and Damen’s attention was diverted again. The fingers in his arm grew more painful, dragged him forward half a step. Kastor’s other hand was still holding the sword. “Damen—what could he possibly want inside Father’s room?”

Kastor opened his mouth to continue, but Damen asked, “Inside? Was he trying to get inside the room?”

Kastor blinked. “He might have!” he said. “Had I not been here! What else could he want—” He broke off suddenly, and then leaned back, looking hard at Damen’s face. “But of course you don’t believe me. Of course, you believe the _Veretian_ —”

Laurent pushed away from the door. Kastor, so intent on Damen, seemed not to hear the soft sound of his footsteps across the floor. Even the slip of sound Laurent made as he stepped into the pool of fluid didn’t seem to register.

“—and all you need is blonde hair and a vicious personality—”

Damen wasn’t listening. Laurent’s foot nudged the discarded cup on his next step forward, and Damen’s mind finally made the connection. The spilled cup, the broken pitcher, Laurent’s interest in the tonic. And Kastor here, in front of him, going to see his father. Damen felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room. “Who brought the cup?” Damen asked.

Kastor stopped speaking. The evidence of his shock was obvious in how long it took him to pull his expression under control. Then, the frantic energy was gone. He was looking at Damen coldly. The hand on Damen’s arm slipped away.

“What’s in the tonic?” Damen asked then. Over Kastor’s shoulder, Laurent’s gaze had shifted from Damen to the back of Kastor’s head.

“Am I a physician, now?” Kastor asked. “Herbs—medicinal herbs.”

Damen was aware of the knife in the folds of his chiton, of how that was all he had. He was aware, equally, of Kastor’s sword. “And the pitcher in my room?”

That was all it took. Kastor moved, quicker than Damen anticipated. He was perhaps not as skilled as Damen, but Damen forgot that that still meant that he was well beyond average. 

Damen felt the sword pierce his side at the same moment that he reached behind himself for the knife. He had only just grasped it when Kastor shuddered, and the sword suddenly fell from his hand and clattered against the floor, flicking drops of Damen’s blood across the tile.

When Damen looked up, the tip of a second sword point, shining red, was poking out of the front of Kastor’s chest. Then Laurent pulled it back out, and Kastor swayed on his feet before collapsing to the floor.

Damen watched, stunned, barely aware of his chiton quickly soaking through with blood from his own wound. After a moment, he felt himself fall to the ground as well, only just stopping himself from being laid out flat on his back.

He heard Laurent say his name, and then suddenly he was there, just in front of him.

“The tonic…” he said.

Laurent’s hands were pressing against his side, but blood was still slipping between his fingers. “Not a tonic, I’d wager,” he said.

“But, why—”

“Damen,” Laurent said. “Don’t speak.” He glanced over his shoulder, and when Damen really concentrated, he could hear footsteps. Laurent tensed, curling over his body, until Nikandros suddenly rounded a corner.

He halted so suddenly, Damen almost laughed. Then he was rushing forward, skirting around Kastor with wide eyes and kneeling beside Laurent.

“What—” he began to ask, pressing his hands seemingly without thought over Laurent’s.

“Get a physician,” Laurent said. Then said it again when Nikandros continued to kneel there, looking stunned.

“Yes,” he said, standing. “Yes. The King’s—”

“No,” said Laurent, nearly barking it. “Not him—find another.”

It was a testament to how shocked Nikandros was that he merely nodded and left, sprinting back up the corridor, his hands red.

Damen could see his vision blurring at the edges, narrowing down his sight to Laurent’s face, and only a bit of the corridor behind him.

Then Damen’s gaze dropped, and he realized that blood—not his blood—was dripping from a cut on Laurent’s shoulder. Suddenly, Damen’s mind grasped onto the fact that Laurent and Kastor had been fighting before he arrived; truly fighting. He had been so caught up in the events that followed that he hadn’t even wondered if Laurent had sustained any injuries. “Are you hurt?” he asked. 

Laurent’s mouth opened in a look of pure, unfiltered surprise. And then suddenly he laughed. “Am _I_ hurt? You are on the brink of death and you’re asking how I am?”

Damen’s gaze hadn’t moved from Laurent’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.” He attempted to sit up, to find Laurent’s hand on his shoulder, shoving him back down.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he said. “Don’t move.”

After that, Damen seemed to lose track of time. Laurent was saying something, and Damen only caught the end.

“I must send a message to Auguste. My uncle—”

“Your uncle?” Damen asked. Laurent’s face was swimming in and out of focus.

“If this is part of the same plot, then Auguste—”

“Plot?”

Laurent huffed. Damen thought he might have smiled in return. He must have lost consciousness not long after, because the next time Damen opened his eyes, Nikandros was there, and Laurent was not.

When he woke the time after that, he had been moved out of the hallway, and was in his bed. He thought he was alone, until he felt a warm weight in the bed beside him. He tried to turn his head, but lost consciousness again before he could look at Laurent.

After that, he was still in bed, but Laurent was standing on the balcony, looking out across the sea. Damen attempted to sit up, and realized immediately afterward what a bad idea it was. He must have made a pained noise because Laurent came into his field of view a moment later, and then perched on the bed next to Damen’s hip.

“How do you feel?” Laurent asked, at the same moment that Damen asked, “Auguste?”

Laurent’s eyebrow twitched up. “Answer me first.”

“I feel…not dead,” said Damen.

A tiny smile touched Laurent’s face; appearing more in his eyes than on his lips. “I suppose that’s more than I could hope for.”

Damen let a moment pass, but when Laurent didn’t speak, he asked again: “Auguste?”

“Auguste is fine,” said Laurent.

“Keeping Jord with him worked out, then?”

A flush bloomed on Laurent’s cheeks. “So, you were listening.” He went on before Damen had a chance to respond. “Yes, it was good that Jord stayed. It seemed the final act was meant to happen in Akielos and Vere simultaneously.”

“What act was that?” asked Damen.

“The deaths in the line of succession to make room for my uncle and Kastor.”

“They were working together?”

Laurent’s tone was sardonic, but his expression was stony. “Apparently the idea of an alliance was only distasteful if they weren’t the ones benefitting from it.”

Damen’s breath shuddered out of him. He was on the verge of asking more questions, when Laurent suddenly leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Damen’s forehead.

Damen froze, then smiled. He was still smiling when Laurent leaned back.

“Your color’s up,” he said by way of explanation, narrowing his eyes at Damen’s expression. “You should rest.”

“How long have I been resting?”

Laurent stood suddenly. Another pitcher had replaced the first one on the desk. Laurent poured himself a cup of water, not looking at Damen. “A day or two,” he said.

Damen was certain that was a lie, but already the effort of being awake was beginning to tire him. The last thing he remembered was saying, “Yeah, right,” and hearing Laurent’s answering laugh.

#

The weeks following were nothing short of torture. Used to an active lifestyle, Damen found it near-impossible to remain in bed all day. On numerous occasions Laurent had forced him back onto the bed, having come in to find Damen struggling to stand.

On other occasions Laurent joined him in bed, pressed up against his good side.

Toward the end of his recovery, Damen was finally allowed out of his room to visit his father. In the hands of a loyal physician, his father had begun to improve quickly, and when Damen went to see him, he was sitting up in his bed with a book, looking up when Damen entered.

“Damianos,” he said, setting the book aside. 

Damen sat down. For a long moment, they only looked at each other.

“I’m sorry,” said Damen eventually. “I’m sorry—I should have known. I never should have left you with him.”

“It’s done,” said his father. “You didn’t know. Neither did I. There is nothing more to speak of.”

Damen could think of much more to speak of, but for now he remained quiet. The pain of Kastor’s betrayal was still fresh, sharp enough for Damen to feel as though he were being run through again whenever he thought about it.

Another quiet moment passed. “What of the princeling?” Theomedes asked. His gaze, when he turned it back to Damen, was sharp; hawk-like.

“What of him?” Damen asked carefully.

“It seems you’re hoping that I’ll be too sickly to question you. Why is he here?”

Damen braced himself. His father’s opinions of Veretians had risen considerably in the years since they’d begun forging an alliance, but Damen could still remember every foul thing his father had ever told him about Veretians. That they’re conniving; they’re snakes; they’re not to be trusted.

Damen could also remember the warning his father had given him when they’d ridden up to the front steps of Vere for the first time: _Watch yourself with these Veretian princes._

“I have already spoken to his brother, and his father—” He would have continued, but Theomedes held up a hand to stop him.

“I understand,” he said. “You don’t need to say anything else.”

For a moment, Damen was silent. His father had leaned back against his pillows and was staring up toward the ceiling.

He had been told to stop talking, but Damen couldn’t let this silence fester.

“He defended you,” he said. “He was the one who guarded your door—who stopped Kastor from entering.”

He couldn’t go on. He followed a different line of thought instead.

“If,” Damen said, “Laurent had come to speak to you…what would you have said?”

“Am I to take that to mean he won’t come speak to me?”

Damen had to fight back a grimace. The idea of Laurent deigning to meet with his father, to ask permission to court Damen, seemed highly unlikely. Laurent, having decided what he wanted to do, would simply do it, without deference to anyone else’s opinion.

When Theomedes began to laugh, Damen looked up, rising halfway out of his seat when it turned to a cough. His father waved him away, found a handkerchief in the mussed bedsheets and coughed into it.

Afterwards, silence fell again, but it was brief. “Veretians,” his father said, “have no sense of duty.” There was a little smile around his mouth, his gaze amused, and Damen felt the tension leave his shoulders, a tension he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying.

Damen couldn’t stop himself from hoping, from asking the question that he wanted so desperately to have a favorable answer to: “So you approve?”

His next words were laced with bitterness, and Damen felt that hurt pierce him through once more. “Well, I am lacking a son.”

#

Damen made to return to Vere with Laurent a few weeks later. Laurent, who had hardly stepped foot in the guest suite that had been made up for him when he arrived, was in Damen’s room gathering his things.

Damen was sitting on a low couch, watching him. There were a few discarded books on the desk that Laurent was picking up individually, examining, and then packing away.

“So, this alliance,” said Damen.

Laurent paused, then sighed. “Yes?”

“When we first met,” said Damen, “you said that there was no hope for our countries to be friends.”

Laurent looked up at him, his gaze cool. “What I _actually_ said was that history indicated that our countries were unlikely to become friends.”

Damen was certain that Laurent hadn’t _actually_ said that either, but he let that pass by unremarked. He stood up. Laurent leaned a hip against the desk and let Damen draw closer.

He had already changed out of his chiton and into his Veretian clothing in preparation for their journey. It meant that Damen had to settle for kissing the thin skin just above the collar of his jacket, instead of the pink shoulder that would have been exposed in the chiton.

“What do you think now?” Damen asked, his lips against the rapid pulse in Laurent’s throat.

“Of the alliance?” Laurent said, sounding harassed, but his arms had found their way around Damen’s neck, his fingers slipping into the short hair there. Damen lifted his head to meet Laurent’s gaze, which had warmed considerably. “Maybe it will survive after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading/reviewing/leaving kudos!! I really appreciate all the lovely comments everyone has left on this. :)
> 
> As an FYI, I might potentially be posting one more chapter (an Epilogue) because there's a scene that I had to cut out of a previous chapter that I'd like to put somewhere. Still going to mark this as complete since that'd be more of a fluff chapter not really necessary to the main plot.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised ;)

There were bruises on Laurent’s neck, two that could be seen. One was just beneath his ear, the other half-peeked out over the top of his jacket collar when he shifted. Damen’s attention kept refocusing on them whenever Laurent moved, or spoke, or when there was a break in conversation.

He could feel himself growing warm the longer he looked, his mind snagging on how those bruises had formed on Laurent’s neck, the hours in the gardens, on the balcony, in the quiet of Damen’s rooms, and then Laurent’s. His mouth had been there; on the skin just under Laurent’s ear, growing hot under Damen’s mouth, his pulse beating frantically under Damen’s tongue.

At one point Damen’s reverie was broken by Laurent turning to look at him. Damen smiled, unable to help himself, but instead of getting an answering smile in return, Laurent’s pale brows rose in expectation. Then Damen glanced around and realized that it wasn’t just Laurent looking at him, but everyone around the table.

He straightened in his seat, clearing his throat. “Please repeat yourself,” he told Nikandros, who he hoped beyond hope had been the one speaking as his attention flagged.

Nikandros repeated himself, and Damen gave his opinion, and then called the meeting to a close.

They rose, and Damen caught Laurent’s elbow once they were outside the room, letting the others move on ahead of them.

“Come riding with me,” said Damen.

Laurent only looked at him, then said, “You can’t. You have to meet with Nikandros.”

Damen frowned. “For what?”

“To have the meeting we just had…without me.”

Damen made to protest, but Laurent only quirked his eyebrow and began to walk away. Damen was sorely tempted to go after him, but knew that Laurent would only turn him away again.

Sighing, Damen turned and went after Nikandros instead.

#

It had been half a year since the attempted coup; since Kastor’s death. It had been a week since Theomedes had drawn Damen into his office and told him he was thinking of abdicating.

Damen had felt his knees go weak. “But—why?”

“I am old,” Theomedes said, succinctly. “And not as strong as I once was. And after…” he trailed off, then after a moment continued speaking. “I believe a change of leadership is in order.”

And then, mind reeling, Damen had been excused. He hadn’t told anyone; his father had given no real timeframe, and part of Damen hoped that the conversation would come to nothing, that it had been a moment of insanity in his father.

But the thought still weighed on him, heavily enough that he had told Laurent one night in his bedroom, without thinking of it, while Laurent was sitting next to him on the low couch, his bare feet tucked under himself as he read.

“My father might abdicate.”

Laurent looked up at once. “What?”

“He told me last week.”

For a long few seconds Laurent just stared at him. Then he said, “When?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he knows.”

Laurent’s expression turned a fraction more relaxed. “All right, then.” Then he dropped his eyes back to his book.

Damen stared at the top of his blond head before he said, “That’s it?”

Laurent’s gaze met his again. “Well, yes. There’s not much to say until you know when it’ll happen.”

“You don’t have any opinion on the matter?” Damen asked. Was it possible for Laurent not to have an opinion about something?

Laurent’s mouth quirked. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well then?”

Laurent sighed, closing his book and slipping it onto the table beside them. “I think it’d be honorable to abdicate. I don’t imagine my father would ever do it.”

Damen waited, but Laurent didn’t go on. He figured if he wanted an answer to his question, he’d have to ask it. “And me?”

Laurent didn’t move any closer, but he did slowly uncurl his legs and set his feet on the floor. “You already know that you are honorable,” he said. “You’d make an excellent King.”

Part of Damen unwound, but there was a lingering thought in his mind. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached out and slid his fingers over the soft skin on the back of Laurent’s hand. Laurent didn’t move away, but he became marginally stiffer. Despite all that they had done together, it still felt transgressive to touch Laurent casually like this.

“And if—when—I become King…what will become of us?”

Laurent’s gaze was fixed on their hands. He turned his over beneath Damen’s, pressing their palms together. “You will need an heir,” he said softly.

Damen’s gut clenched. An heir. He would need an heir—he would _want_ an heir. He had always enjoyed children; had thought pleasantly of having children of his own. 

Though it was impossible, an image appeared in his mind of a little mixture of himself and Laurent; a boy with Laurent’s blue eyes and Damen’s dark curls, or maybe a brown-skinned little girl with Laurent’s golden locks.

_Impossible_ , he thought again. He brushed the thought away. Laurent was still watching him.

“We can find a way,” said Damen. “If—if you wanted to. If you…wanted to be here for that.” He could feel himself flushing. He tried to be clearer. “If you wanted to be with me.”

He wasn’t looking at Laurent. As the silence stretched on, he felt himself growing warmer at the back of his neck. But Laurent’s palm was still pressed to his; Laurent hadn’t made any motion to remove it.

“Yes,” said Laurent.

Damen looked up. Laurent’s cheeks were pink, but he was looking at Damen steadily.

“Yes?” Damen repeated, just to be sure.

Laurent’s mouth quirked again. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Damen said, and he felt a sudden moment of elation. If he knew Laurent wouldn’t startle at it, he would throw himself forward and kiss him. As it was, he just smiled. “OK. Good.”

“Good,” Laurent repeated, then he removed his hand from Damen’s, leaned forward and picked his book up once more.

Damen hardly noticed. He felt as though his feet had left the ground. He realized that he was smiling at nothing. When he glanced at Laurent, it was to find the cool blue eyes quickly moving away from him, pretending he hadn’t been looking, and Damen’s smile just got bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right--this is officially the end of the end. thanks again for reading!!!


End file.
